Redemption 11 of 12 in a series
by mccoylover
Summary: This one picks up shortly after 'The Honeymoon's Over'. While dealing with their decision to end Brooke's pregnancy, Jack and Brooke receive unexpected news. Much canon from season 18, including the finale.
1. Chapter 1

_Is nothing sacred to you? Is there no level that is too low for you to stoop to in order to get what you want?_

Jack McCoy asked himself the same questions he'd been asking since he left his wife at Manhattan General Hospital. Every time he thought about the defeated, mournful look in Brooke's eyes, he felt his own eyes start to water. McCoy glanced at his watch and tried once again to focus on the case file that had been sitting in front of him unread for over an hour.

"Jack? You gotta minute? There's been a screw up in the-," Michael Cutter stopped short as McCoy looked up from the file. "Jack, are you feeling all right? You look like hell."

"I'll survive. Now, what's the problem here," McCoy responded gruffly as he slipped his glasses off and waited for Cutter to respond.

"Mike, I told you I'd run it by Jack in the morning," Connie Rubirosa snapped as she hastily entered McCoy's office.

Although McCoy had told no one in the office about the procedure Brooke had undergone the day before, Rubirosa had walked in on his telephone conversation with Suffolk county ADA Jake Cohen and quickly put the pieces together. "Jack, isn't Brooke coming home today? Should you be at home instead of-?"

"I think I'm capable to managing my personal life without your input, thank you Connie," McCoy snapped as he stood and snatched the case file out of Cutter's hand.

While he skimmed the file, Cutter and Rubirosa exchanged concerned glances before McCoy looked up and muttered a string of curses that caused both ADA's to stare back at him in stunned silence.

"Have either of you let Van Buren in on this cluster fuck," McCoy demanded as he reached for the phone. "This is worse than the usual sloppy interrogation crap the 2 7 is famous for! Such incompetence…neither of these detectives deserves to have a gold shield... much less any kind of-"

"Put the phone down and go home Jack," Rubirosa said with firmness that surprised both men. "I'll call Van Buren myself. If we have any hope at all in salvaging this mess, the last thing we need is a pissing match between our office and the 2 7."

McCoy bit back a response he knew was based on his own personal misery. He recognized Rubirosa was trying to do. As much as he appreciated her effort, McCoy knew from personal experience the only way he could cope with his own personal demons was to do what had become second nature to him; he'd have to work his way through the devastation of losing a child.

Cutter gave his assistant an awestruck stare as he watched the DA wordlessly grab his briefcase and suit jacket before walking out the door.

"Listen, don't take this the wrong way, but what is it with you and McCoy? I don't know anybody else in this office that would have gotten away with what I just saw. Have you cast your spell on Jack, as well?"

Cutter inwardly relaxed when Rubirosa leaned back against McCoy's desk and surveyed him with an amused smile.

"'As well?' Trust me; no one mesmerizes Jack McCoy, except maybe his wife. But I'm intrigued by your statement, Mike. Are you implying someone else in this office might be bewitched by me, besides Jack?"

Cutter grinned back at his assistant as he shrugged his shoulders.

"I think I've made my feelings about you pretty clear, Connie. Not only do I think you have great legs, but that I think you're intelligent and a damn fine attorney. It would be easy for any man to fall under your spell and you know it," Cutter replied confidently as he leaned down and met her eyes. "Now, stop trying to hedge and tell me what's going on with Jack."

Rubirosa's face clouded as she thought about what the McCoy's were going through. She knew it was just a matter of time before it became common knowledge Brooke's pregnancy was over. The last thing she wanted was to be the one that got the rumor mill running regarding the specifics.

"There have been some problems with Brooke's pregnancy," she said as she glanced at the closed door. "Jack's not handling it well."

"I image not," Cutter said thoughtfully. "I have to admit, those two have had more than their share of trials. I have to hand it to Jack; he's held it together better than I think I would. I mean first the kidnapping, then this. Not to mention, wasn't there a shooting before they got married, before my transfer to Major Felonies?"

"The Samantha Weaver shooting. Don't remind me," she said as she grimaced. "Just when he seemed to be getting comfortable with the idea of being a father again, too. It's more than sad; it's not fair."

Cutter's smile deepened. 'It's not fair' wasn't a phrase you often heard from a dedicated prosecutor like his assistant. Hearing the sincere concern in her voice reminded Cutter of what a truly compassionate woman she was.

"Connie," he said softly as he reached out to lift her chin. His own eyes softened when he realized she had tears in her eyes. "Hey, what is it?"

Rubirosa met his concerned gaze, not bothering to try to hide her distress.

"Having children someday is something that's always been important to me," she said haltingly. "Being an attorney is satisfying, but being a wife and mother…When the time comes, my family will be my first priority. To find the right man and…to be carrying his child only to have to… God I can't image going through what Jack and Brooke are going through right now."

Cutter shook his head as he gently pulled her into his arms and began stroking her hair. Rubirosa's feelings about family came as no surprise to him. During the dinner they shared a week before; it became obvious to the EADA that although she was in a non-traditional career, Rubirosa herself was a traditional woman. It seemed only natural to think she would take great pleasure in caring for family one day.

It was a side of her Cutter not only respected, but found endearing.

"Listen. You said Brooke was home from the hospital. That must mean she and the baby are both fine; that whatever happened to them is over. The doctor wouldn't let her go home otherwise-"

"The baby's gone," she said whispered as she rested her face against his shoulder. As much as she wanted to protect McCoy's privacy, there was something about Cutter's manner that reassured her it wouldn't be a mistake to confide in him. "The baby's gone and if Jack's as upset as he seems, God only knows how Brooke's dealing with it."


	2. Chapter 2

Jake Cohen watched helplessly as his best friend moved cautiously from the front door to the bar. It was as if he was watching a video of Brooke's return home after she miscarried with her first child, more than five years earlier. The sullen, empty look in her eyes told him everything she'd refused to say when he picked her up from the hospital that afternoon.

Although Cohen knew Jack McCoy wanted to be the one to bring her home, Cohen also knew what was in store for the other man. Cohen had used all of his verbal skill to convince McCoy to humor him and allow Cohen to do this one thing for the couple.

"You know you don't have the luxury of becoming a drunk this time," Cohen said matter of factly as he watched her down the first shot of tequila.

"Go to hell, Jake. Or at least go back to Islip and leave me the hell alone," she retorted as she refilled the shot glass.

"Listen," he continued undaunted, as he set the small suitcase and brown paper shack on the sofa. "I know you're hurting. You certainly have good reason for that. But you're not thinking clearly, if you were-"

"I was thinking clearly enough for the legal department at Manhattan General when I signed the consent form," she shot back in a monotone. "If my mind was clear enough to abort my child, my mind is clear enough to know whether or not I want a drink."

"You 're gonna abort this marriage if you don't pull yourself together," Cohen said shortly as she downed the second shot. "Is that what you want, Brooke? You want to hug the bottle instead of your husband? "

"Oh so _that's_ why you talked Jack out of coming to the hospital," she said sarcastically; showing the first flicker of real emotion since he met her at the hospital. "Thought you'd prop me up before he had to deal with me by himself? Noble thought, but we both have blood on our hands Jake. No amount of enabling on your part is going to change that."

"Fine," Cohen said as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "If you don't want to listen to me, maybe Sam can talk some sense-"

"_Don't _Jake," Brooke demanded as she swiftly moved towards him and snapped the phone shut. "I mean it. If I never see Sam Prescott again, it will be too soon and you _know_ why. Just tell him to stay the hell away from me and save me the trouble of taking out a restraining order."

Cohen signed as he picked up the paper bag. When Cohen learned it had been Brooke's former husband that been the one to reveal to McCoy that Brooke's pregnancy was too risky for her to continue it to term, Cohen knew there would be serious consequences all around.

"You can tell Sam that yourself, if that's how you really feel. Given all the crap you two have stirred up lately, I'm smart enough to know the last place I want to be is between you and Sam," Cohen countered as he tossed her the bag. A whisper of a smile came to his lips as Brooke instinctively reached for the bundle, almost dropping the shot glass she held. "Maybe you ought to consider taking a vow of silence and focus on crocheting yourself a gag until you're back in your right mind again."

After shooting him a dagger look, she looked inside the bag. After rifling through and removing half a dozen legal files, Brooke snickered softly. She turned her back on Cohen as she set the bag of yarn and the files down beside her shot glass on the bar before reaching for the tequila bottle.

"Yeah, maybe in my spare time I can make a couple of pairs of baby booties," she said under her breath before downing the contents of the glass.

"Maybe I'm the one who needs that gag. When I think of you and yarn, I think of keeping your hands too busy to reach for a bottle. The last thing I wanted to do was remind you ... I'm an idiot and I'm sorry sweetie," he said as he wrapped his around arms her; sincerely sorry for what he saw as an unforgiveable laspe on his part.

"So am I, Jake," Brooke said softly as she squeezed his hand. "I know you're trying to make this easier. I know that. I just need some time and right now, a little liquid courage."

"I'm not trying to tell you how to live, but you know deep down, there was never another choice. Jack loves you. Don't punish him for loving you enough to want to keep you with him as long as he can, Brooke.

"I guess I should thank you for keeping your mouth shut as long as you did," she said as she returned his hug. "I know you wanted me to tell Jack weeks ago-"

"It doesn't matter now. What matters is that you two take it one day at a time. This isn't going to be easy to either one of you."

"I know that," she said with an ironic smile before she turned to fill her shot. "Hench the need for liquid courage."

Cohen grudgingly nodded as the front door opened.

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As the two men exchanged both greetings and goodbye's, Brooke discreetly slipped the shot glass behind the bag of yarn on the bar. When she saw husband last, McCoy had looked as if he had aged twenty years in a matter of hours. As Brooke watched the exchange between the two men, she noted how haggard his face still looked and found herself wondering if he'd slept at all the previous night.

Cohen politely rejected McCoy's offer of dinner, citing a previous commitment in Islip and accepting a raincheck instead. After Cohen departed, McCoy wordlessly reached for his wife; holding her with such tender sorrow that Brooke could feel her eyes begin to moisten.

"I know right now, you probably hate me and you have every reason to-," he began earnestly.

"I could never hate you," she said softly as she held his face in her hands. "Just wish you hadn't played your trump card. You knew when you talked about leaving our child without either of us...leaving it alone like my first... When you used my fears about my first child to get me to agree to... God Jack, I wish you'd had more faith in me and my judgment. But it hardly matters now."

"Brooke it was never about second guessing you,"McCoy countered defensively.

It wasn't as if he hadn't expected the accusation. In fact, he was mildy surprised it had taken Brooke this long to confront him. When he learned the risks involved with his wife continuing her pregnancy, McCoy knew what he had to do. He realized he was in for the fight of his life; that Brooke would resist any argument he had for ending the pregnancy on the grounds she was gambling with her life...

Any argument except the one he chose.

He knew using Brooke's almost irrational fear of leaving a child of hers alone was not only manipulative but cruel. Yet it was the only way he could think of to get his wife to see reason.

"Jack, please. Let's just table this, at least for tonight," she interjected as she struggled to maintain her composure. "We're both drained. I don't know about you, but I'll be doing good to look over a few briefs before I call it a night."

"Briefs? You just got home for the hospital."

"Which means I go back to work in a few days," she countered wearily as she reached for the thin pile of folders that rested on the bar. "I asked Jake to bring a few files out with him."

"I just assumed…given that it's your first night home… I thought I'd broil a few steaks and maybe we could go to bed early."

She ran a hand over lightly stumbled cheek as she reached for her overnight bag as she eyed him coyly.

"Honey, as much as I'd like to, you know it's too soon to even think about making love."

With one hand, McCoy took the bag from her, while he wrapped his free arm around her waist. He remembered the rules from when his first wife had miscarried. After conferencing with Brooke's doctor, he knew sex would be the last thing she would be up to that night.

"Where is it written that just because I want to take you to bed I only want to ravish you?"

"Well," she began as she smiled in spite of herself. "You_ are_ Jack McCoy. Let's just say your reputation precedes you."

"Reputation! Just over blown aspersions on my character," he said with a smirk. "Exaggerations. No. That bed has been very lonely without you. Simply knowing you were going to be back in it has been a distraction for me all day long."

"I missed you too," she said as she gave his hand a squeeze. "Listen, I need a real bath after a few days of sponge baths. Why don't you make us a drink and while bathe I'll look those briefs over while you start dinner? That way I won't be up until two reading and maybe we can make it an early night?"

The smell of tequila on Brooke's breath hadn't been lost on McCoy. Not that it surprised him after what she had been through. God knew he'd had more than his share of scotch while she was away. Brooke could see the hesitation in his eyes as she took the bag from his hand.

"Relax, Jack. I had one drink when I walked in the door," she lied without batting an eye. "You can start marking the liquor bottles if you're that concerned."

"Do you want a sunrise or do want a shot," he asked evenly as she went into the bathroom.

"A sunrise would be fine," she said lightly as she gave him a wide smile knowing her next remark would ensure he'd simply bring her the bottle. "Unless of course you forgot to buy grenadine again. Then I'll just have to rough it and drink it straight."

Brooke smiled inwardly as he husband swore softly and turned to start towards the bar.

"Why in hell they don't put that stuff with the other fruit juices is beyond me," he muttered, as he had each time the ingredient had been forgotten.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack McCoy took the empty bottle from the bottom drawer of his desk and replaced it with the one he had purchased on his way to work that morning. In the month since Brooke's pregnancy had been terminated, McCoy had stopped drinking at home in an effort to help curtail his wife's drinking.

While it hadn't been a smashing success, McCoy was optimistic that she was drinking less now that he refused to drink with her. Although, by the time he arrived home he often found his wife soundly sleeping.

"Jack, I didn't think you'd be in this early," Connie Rubirosa began, her bright smile dimmed as her eyes fell on the brown paper bag in his hand.

"Don't start Connie," he said brusquely as he threw the bagged bottle into the trash can. "I'm just getting rid of an empty. ; An empty that became an empty well before I came in this morning. Is there something I can do for you?"

"I just wanted to give you this," she said with equal harshness as she handed him a pink slip of paper. "The new girl must have gotten your messages mixed up with mine. Anyway, when I saw it was from your daughter, I thought you might want to take a look ASAP**."**

McCoy stared at the name on the paper and muttered a thank you as Rubirosa left the room.

Once McCoy and his wife had agreed to end the pregnancy, neither had the will to contact the numerous friends and family members that would needed to be told. Jake Cohen and Danielle Melnick had graciously offered to take on the task. McCoy knew his daughter had been abroad doing a photo shoot for a new client for the last several weeks. Staring down at the message he wondered if anyone had been able to reach her to give her the bad news.

Tempted to wait until he felt more inclined to visit, but knowing that time wouldn't come very soon, McCoy reached for the receiver and began dialing the seemingly endless list of numbers that made up the telephone number for the _Grand Hotel_ in Paris.

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Brooke McCoy glanced at the clock on her computer and mentally counted the hours until lunch and her first drink of the day. She knew she could never pull off her husband's habit of keeping a bottle for after work in her desk and still be able to function well enough to hold onto her job. Instead, she kept her drinking at lunch to a two drink maximum and made a point of waiting until she was on the train home before indulging any further.

She was smart enough to know heavy drinking wasn't going to take away the sense of emptiness she felt upon not only aborting her baby, but consenting to a tubal litigation as well. But, it was one of only two things that seemed to motivate her to get out of bed every morning.

The other thing being the fact she knew she had to at least appear to be strong for her husband.

"Aren't you due in Part 14 in ten minutes," District Attorney Michael Jackowicz snapped as he exited the office across the hall.

Brooke glanced at the day planner on her desk and immediately leapt to her feet.

"I'm on my way. I just-"

Jackowicz's resigned sigh silenced the EADA, as she watched him come in and close her office door.

"I told you it was too soon for you to come back Brooke. I need my Executive focused and fast on her feet, not counting the minutes until she can get her next drink."

"I do my job and you know it, Michael," she snapped, while suppressing the string of swear words that ran through her mind. "I forgot a court date; a onetime thing. I think I've been doing this long enough to bluff my way through a simple sentencing hearing without breaking a sweat. As for my personal life -it's just that- personal. As long as I'm not at work, I'll have a drink whenever the hell I want and I won't be answering to you or anybody else for it, Dad."

Jackowicz shook his head as reached for the suit jacket on the rack.

"I want to see you after court," he said as she snatched the garment from him.

"Fine," she said primly as she threw the door open and nearly ran into Jake Cohen.

"Michael, before you-" Cohen began; fearing the worst as he took in the older man unsmiling gaze.

"You're not in court today," Jackowicz interjected.

"Nothing but motion drafts and depositions until next week."

"Good. You're taking the Executive position effective tomorrow," Jackowicz said flatly."You can start going through McCoy's case files immediately and-"

"What about Taz Montez," Cohen stammered. "She's next in seniority. Besides, Brooke just-"

"You know Taz is on maturity leave herself until next month," Jackowicz responded as he glanced down the hallway. Noting the passengers leaving the elevator, he motioned for Cohen to follow him into his office and closed the door behind him. "I know she's your friend, Jake. I hold Brooke in high regard as well. But she's getting sloppy right now and until she straightens herself out she's no good around here."

"So you're terminating her," Cohen said incredulously. "Not only is that unfair, but given why she's out of sorts, it could be grounds for a labor suit Michael-"

"If I wanted to can her Jake, I'd dot all the i's and cross all the t's," the other man said tersely. "I'm putting her on administrative leave until she pulls herself together. I told her not to push herself. She didn't want to listen. Now she doesn't have a choice."

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"Obviously I don't have a choice, do I," Brooke said as she downed the last of her drink and motioned for the bartender to bring another.

"If that's how you see it darlin', I know better than to argue," Sam Prescott said as the bartender set a drink in front of him. "Listen, I know you're not happy with me right now. I just wanted you to know how sorry-"

Brooke rolled her eyes as she silenced her former husband with a look of utter contempt. The pair were sitting in the club car of the Long Island Railroads 7:38 train to Manhattan. After her brief but devastating meeting with her boss, Brooke had made a beeline from her office to the train to the bar of the club car. She had been about to finish her third drink when Prescott sat down beside her.

"I told Jake to make it clear to you that you're the last person I want to see. Obviously you still don't get it. Do I need to get a God dammed restraining order to make my point?"

"Listen, I'm still workin' out of the Islip office. I take this train every night to get home-"

"Well, then I guess this won't be a problem after tonight," she said with a grimace as she picked up her glass.

"You mind tellin' me what that's 'posed to mean?"

"It means I have nothing else to say to you, so why don't you leave me the hell alone," she answered as she stubbornly decided to omit telling him about her forced leave.

"I'm not gonna just sit here and let you get dr-"

"Then leave," she said as she motioned for the bartender. "Listen; bring me a bottle of Jose Cuervo and a shot glass, would you?"

"Oh for God's sake, woman. Can't you stop wallowin' in self pity long enough to be glad you're alive-"

Prescott was ready when the glass shot up. His hand met her wrist as he brought the glass down on the wooden surface.

"You bastard," she hissed while eyeing him with a mix of rage and disgust. "If I'd known what a controlling, self gratifying son of a bitch you were when I thought you were dead, I'd have never have 'wallowed in it' as you call it, for five years. God, I never thought I'd live to say this, but I we all would have been better off if you_ had _been in that casket or if you had at least let mekeep_ thinking _you were in it!"

Prescott stood in stunned silence, unable to hide the searing pain as her words shot through him. He knew he'd pay a high price for showing Jack McCoy a copy of his former wife's medical records. He also knew if he didn't inform McCoy of the dangers of Brooke's pregnancy she could have very well died. At the time, Prescott felt he had no choice other than to fill McCoy in on the risk his wife was taking with her life.

As he watched her calmly pour herself a shot he began to realize not only the price he would pay for his decision, but the price Brooke herself was paying after being coerced in to giving up her child.

"We both know you don't mean that," he said at last as the train began to slow.

Brooke gave him a challenging look as she slipped some money on the bar and gathered her things.

"Think what you want," she said softly as she leaned close to him and met his injured stare. "But I know that I mean this. The moment I figured out what you did I stopped loving you. I stopped caring about what we had and whatever was left of the love I felt for you, instantly turned to hate. As far as I'm concerned, my first husband died by an assassins bullet. You? You may call yourself 'Sam Prescott' but you're not the man I married. Come near me again and I'll not only hit you with a restraining order, I'll make it my life's mission to find away to make you as miserable as I am now."


	4. Chapter 4

It was almost nine thirty when Brooke closed the door to the loft. Given the fact her husband's schedule included a series of meetings that Brooke knew would keep him downtown well passed the dinner hour, Brooke was confident that she would beat him home. But just to be safe, she called him after she arrived in Manhattan. She was glad she had. McCoy told her he would be home before nine and that he had news he was anxious to share with her about his daughter.

Knowing the last thing her husband needed was to come home to a wife three sheets to the wind, she told him she was just leaving Inslip. Using the extra hour she had bought for herself, Brooke stopped at a coffee shop a few blocks from the loft and did a repair job on her face and hair as she downed cups of coffee to counter act the effects of the tequila.

As she set her things down and kiss her husband, Brooke could smell the faint odor of scotch and mints on McCoy's breath.

McCoy could taste the bitterness of the coffee as he kissed her lips. He knew the old trick well, but chose to hold on to the possibility Brooke had simply opted for a few cups of coffee to keep her wake on the train ride home.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said lightly. "Michael wanted to see me and things took longer than I expected."

"Problem with a case?"

"I'll tell you all about it after you tell me about Becky," she said as they sat down on the sofa. "You sounded excited on the phone. Is she still in Paris?"

"She got married," he said wondrously, still not quite believing it himself.

"What? When? Who is the guy," Brooke demanded, with a delighted grin.

"Apparently, the managing editor of the magazine she was working for took a liking to her. His name is Charles Henning," McCoy said thoughtfully. "I guess that makes Rebecca, Rebecca Henning now."

"Don't be too sure," Brooke said as she mischievously tousled his hair. "Becky_ is_ a modern woman. But this does mean _you_, Jack McCoy are a father in law. When do you get the opportunity to grill the guy? Did Becky say when they're coming home?"

"Well, it seems Henning has three months to go on this Paris assignment, so they'd like it if the family joined them in Paris to celebrate."

"The family?"

" Liz, Don Cragen, and us. Seems his family lives in London, so they were able to attend the wedding. I know you're schedule is tight right now. I told Becky we probably couldn't-"

"Forget about my schedule," Brooke countered with firmness that made McCoy's eyebrows raise. "Your daughter just got married. Of course we're going to go meet her new husband."

"Brooke, I know you don't want to disappoint Becky," he said cautiously. "But you haven't been home that long. We both have…we're both still dealing with losing the baby. Besides, it's not like you can just drop you case load."

"I'm on indefinite leave," she said with a wry smile, as she shrugged her shoulders.

Brooke knew there had been enough half truths and unspoken secrets between them in the last few months. She was more than aware McCoy would see the unspoken meaning in the words 'indefinite leave' but the truth having been told, she hoped she could brush it by and get his focus back on his child and not on his wife's lack of good judgment.

"Oh God," he said right on cue; worry lines quickly formed on his forehead. "I should have seen this coming."

"Jack, don't look so stricken. Obviously I went back to work way too soon. There haven't been any 'signs' for you to see, except that I'm a little depressed, which is more than natural. Which by the way, you're guilty of as well."

"We both need to get a handle on the drinking Brooke," he said bluntly. "If Michael put you on leave-"

"Then we should go to Paris," she countered matter of factly. "First of all, you need to meet this young man. Second of all, neither of us will over indulge with Becky there. As much as I've been have been 'wallowing in it', for lack of a better tern, you know I adore your daughter. I'd never put her in such an awkward position as to have to explain why her stepmother is drinking like a fish."

McCoy nodded as he gave her a lazy smile. The idea that his child had married without him there to give her away had stung, at first. But after he realized how happy she was, how much she had just wanted to be spontaneous and marry the man she loved, McCoy easily put his own his feelings aside.

Looking at his wife, he understood exactly why Becky had done what she had. McCoy remembered how nothing seemed more in important just a few short months before, than marrying Brooke, with or whithout firends and family there to witness the occasion. Suddenly, all McCoy felt was joy for his daughter and an impulsive need to get on a plane and a meet the man responsible for making his child so happy.

"You never wallow," he said quietly, as he took her hand. "Even if you did, you certainly have a right to. But, maybe a change in scenery would be a good thing. There's nothing on my calendar that I can't delegates to Cutter, Carver, or Novak for the next week or so."

"Then let's do it," she said with cheerfulness she wished she felt. "We can look at airfares tonight and maybe you can ask Becky what hotel-"

"She said Charles's parents have a villa we can stay in. From the way she talks, there's more than enough room."

"Good. That leaves more money for you to take me out and indulge my love of rich, fatting foods; the stuff the French are famous for."


	5. Chapter 5

"So, you piss off the old man and manage to get yourself put on indefinite leave and Jack takes you to _Paris_," Jake Cohen asked without making any effort to conceal his envy. "Well that's just great. You get to walk the Champs- Elysees while_ I _do a juggling act with your caseload _and_ mine. And you wonder why they say life isn't fair."

Brooke exchanged grins with her husband while she held the phone out so McCoy could listen to Cohen's rant, as the pair waited to board their flight.

"What can I say," Brooke responded blithely. "If the boss thinks I'm not ready to go back to work, who am I to argue?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Did you want something when you called or where you just looking to gloat?"

"I figured I better check in with you one last time before we took off, just in case you had any last minutes questions about the Messer case. I was scheduled to-"

"I know. I spent the last two days reading your notes when I wasn't in court. I've got it under control," he responded tartly.

"Hey, it's not like I planned this. Besides, what kind of stepmother would I be if I didn't fly out with Jack to meet Becky's new husband?"

"I guess I can't argue with that…too much," Cohen admitted sullenly. "Just do me two favors while you're gone and eventually, I'll forgive you."

"Only two? Ask away," Brooke said as McCoy reached for their carry-on's and motioned for her to follow him.

"First, dry up. No over doing it at those French wineries. I need you sober and ready to show Jackowicz you're fit for duty when you get back."

Brooke tried not to grimace as she slipped her boarding pass and passport out of her purse. Knowing she had not only begun her day with a shot of tequila in her orange juice, but was simply waiting for the plane to take off so as to have an excuse to order what her husband would assume was her first drink of the day, a small wave of guilt washed over her.

"I'll work on it. Next."

"When you think 'gift' think compensation for not only the Messer mess, but the other forty four cases on your load that got dumped on my desk when-"

"Money will be no object when I shop for you, Cohen. Gotta go. We're about to get on the plane. Remember I love you, Jake," she said as she snapped the phone shut and handed the reservation clerk her documents. "I think I finally pushed this friendship to the limit, Jack."

"Knowing the way you two are, I doubt that," McCoy replied as they walked towards the waiting aircraft. "Mike wasn't what I'd call thrilled when I told him he would be taking my place at that charity banquet I was scheduled to attend tonight. But, after I reminded him of a few things, he got over it."

"Really," Brooke said after they took their seats. "What did you do, Jack? Remind the poor guy of the importance of pleasing the boss?"

"I just mentioned that you and I never did have an official honeymoon – after all we did our wedding over a long weekend. By all rights the staff should have seen something like this coming sooner or later. Besides," McCoy continued with a sly tone that made her smile deepen. "When I reminded him there were two tickets – meaning he was obligated to escort my 'date' as well-"

"You're what? I was supposed to be at a seminar tonight and all day tomorrow. I thought you were just going to give the other ticket to...," Brooke began. She laughed softly as she remembered who had been slotted to join her husband at the ball.

"Yeah. I don't think Mike will see taking Connie to the ball to a cross too large to bear."

The pair where still laughing as a young couple took the seats across the aisle. As the stout young man fumbled with the diaper bag, his wife anxiously rocked the infant in her arms in an effort to bring an end to the child's weary cries.

McCoy followed his wife's sympathetic gaze while the couple tried in vain to satisfy their young charge.

"Try the bottle."

"No, he just had a bottle five minutes ago," the young woman impatiently replied. "Too much formula will make him sick. Where's the pacifier?"

"I'm looking. What about the red lion," he asked as he waved the tiny stuffed animal at the child. "You know that's his favorite."

"God Chris. You know he's teething. If you left that pacifier in the car I'm going to kill you," she hissed, unaware of the amused looks the two prosecutors exchanged. "He'll cry all the way to Paris without it. We might as well get off the plane-"

"When my daughter was teething ice chips seemed to keep her happy," McCoy interjected as a stewardess moved towards them.

After exchanging startled looks, the husband passed a request for ice on to the stewardess, as the wife turned towards the McCoy's with a look of relief.

"I'd forgotten all about ice. My mother used to use it when I was cutting teeth. Thank you so much. Chris and I have been planning this trip since before Lennie was born-"

"Lennie," McCoy repeated as his mind recalled another 'Lennie' he hadn't seen for far too many years.

"Yes," she said as she held out the buddle in front of her. "This is Lennie and we're Chris and Marcie."

"Brooke and Jack," Brooke responded as she smiled down at the watchful brown eyes that met hers. "God, he's beautiful. How old is he?"

"He just turned six months. We're taking to meet his grandparents in France. My parents retired there last year and," Marie paused as she smiled at the faces Brooke made that had the baby laughing, instead of crying. "Oh, Lennie likes you Brooke. Would you like to hold him?"

McCoy watched uncertainly as Brooke took the baby in her arms. As he watched her talk to and cuddle the baby a wave of regret washed over him as he imaged the two of them with their own child. McCoy found himself so lost in his own feelings; he failed to realize how exhausted the young couple truly was. It wasn't until the stewardess returned with the ice that he realized both mother and father had fallen asleep.

The haggard stewardess looked pleadingly at McCoy and he nodded solemnly as he took the cup of ice from her.

"I'm not sure if he needs this now or not," McCoy said tenderly as he carefully pulled the tiny lower lip back. "You seem to have a soothing effect on him. Maybe-"

"That's just because I'm a new person," Brooke replied, her eyes never leaving Lennie's smiling face. "Lindsay was like this when she was little. She'd be fascinated for maybe fifteen minutes when somebody new arrived and then she'd remember her gums hurt. Maybe if you rub his gums now, he'll relax enough to sleep a while."

Brooke watched as McCoy's long fingers carefully ran the ice over and around the red areas of the infants gum line. She couldn't help but smile at careful, cautious way he touched the child. As she smelled the smell of baby powder and felt the warmth of the babies curious hands on her face, Brooke ran a gentle hand over her husband's face.

"What?"

"I love you," she answered softly. "I hope you know that's why I wanted to try Jack. You weren't the only one that was being selfish, you know."

"I don't know how you can say that," he said in almost a whisper as he set the ice a side. "I'm the one that asked you to have an...," McCoy paused; still not quite able to say the word. "If, if I'd been … if you'd married a younger man-"

"Jack, I _did_ marry a younger man once and it didn't make any difference," she said as she reached for his hand. "Fate can play a cruel hand sometimes. That's one reason I wanted to have the baby. If I lost you, I'd still have a part of you with me."

"If you'd survived."

"If," she admitted as she look down at the now sleeping child in her arms. "God, it made so much sense at the time. I mean, come on. The fact I even _got_ pregnant… anyway… it doesn't matter now. What does matter is your daughter needs you to be able to share in her happiness."

Before McCoy could respond the traditional announces began as the plane began to taxi down the runway. The motion of the plane startled the sleepy couple next to them and Marcie mouthed words of gratitude as she took a sleeping Lennie from Brooke's arms.

McCoy could see Brooke's gaze linger as she pretended to shift through her handbag. He shook his head as he closed his eyes and slipped an arm around her shoulders. The string of questions he'd been asking himself since the abortion ran through his mind once more.

In his mind, he'd cost his wife her last chance at motherhood. A chance she had been fully prepared to take, despite the risks. Was he wrong? Did he have the right to play God not only with their unborn child's life, but Brooke's as well? Yet every doctor he'd spoken to- and there had been quite a few before Brooke reluctantly signed the consent form- agreed the risk was too great. Had he been a younger man would he have made the same choice? Would he have been willing to risk his wife's life and raise their child alone, if the unthinkable had happened?

"Would either of you care for a cocktail or a soft drink?"

McCoy glanced up at the pert blonde who suddenly made him think of Serena Southerlyn. Brooke could sense his hesitation as she ordered her drink and gave him an encouraging nudge.

"I know it's only 11:30, but you are on vacation and when is the last time_ that's_ happened," Brooke asked as she turned back to the young woman. "Bring the gentleman a scotch rocks, along with my sunrise, would you?"


	6. Chapter 6

It was almost one a.m. when they entered their hotelroom. Although the bulk of their stay was to be spent in a villa in the south of France, McCoy's daughter and new son lin law were scheduled to work in Paris until the weekend, which was why the McCoy's booked a room in the city of lights for their first night in France.

While Becky had been anxious to introduce the couple to her new husband, McCoy had discouraged her from meeting thme at the airport, due to the lateness of the couple arrival time. The moment McCoy opened the door to their room, he was glad he'd stood his ground. Although they had slept between visits with Lennie and refills from the airplane's modest bar, after the long flight neither were in any condition to put up appearances.

As soon as he had tipped the porter and sent him on his way, McCoy smoothly pulled his wife into an embrace before passionately silencing Brooke's half hearted protests with a kiss. He could feel Brooke wrap her arms around him, as she laughed softly before responding to his kiss.

"I thought you told Becky you needed to rest before we met her," Brooke remarked breathlessly as McCoy slipped her jacket off and began to unbutton her blouse.

"After being on the plane for so long I'll sleep much better once I stretch my muscles," he replied with a shy smile. "I'm sure you will too."

"What time did you tell her to come by," she asked as her fingers found the buttons on his shirt while she slipped off her flats.

"Remember, she's still got to work for a living. They're coming by at noon, taking us to lunch and giving us the tickets for the train trip to the coast," he responded as he ran a loving hand over her bra and began to trace an outline of her breasts. "The doctor said there shouldn't be a problem…unless you're not ready…"

Brooke laughed again as she took his hand a led him toward the elegant king sized bed.

"I'd tell you to be gentle with me Jack, but that's already a given," Brooke said as she slipped his shirt over his shoulders. Their eyes met, as she ran her hands over his shoulders and down his chest. "It's been much too long."

McCoy responded by stepping into another embrace. As her kissed her once more, his hands caressed her back, eventually moving to and unclasping the hooks of her bra. As the bra fell to the floor, Mc Coy bent down to lightly run his lips over her breasts.

His thoughts returned to the last time they'd make love. It seemed so long ago… Days before what seemed now like a ridiculous separation over nonsense and things that were past…Before Brooke told him about what McCoy saw now as meaningless kisses and inconsequential memories between her and her former husband… While McCoy himself was struggling with changes that seemed so difficult…with things he'd assumed were for a younger man… struggling with the idea of being a new father...a time that had long before come and gone… Why hadn't he realized just how much he'd been looking forward to two a.m. feedings and diapers and stories and building blocks and sand castles…

"God, I've missed your touch," Brooke whispered while she stepped back and began removing her remaining garments.

McCoy did the same and for a long moment they stood and looked at one another, suddenly very much alert and recovered from the effects of too much liquor and too little sleep.

McCoy remembered the way his first wife had reacted the first time they were intimate after her miscarriage. Although the marriage had been on its last leg, the love and affection between McCoy and Liz Donnelly had remained. He remembered how concerned she's been, not only about her appearance after losing the baby, but how McCoy would response to the subtle, but definite changes that had occurred within her body. He was certain Brooke would have similar anxieties as well.

"I've missed the way you feel," he said as he slowly ran a hand down her arm and then over her waist and hip. "God you are truly beautiful, Brooke."

His eyes followed his hand as it ran solemnly over her stomach and abdomen. As he lowered himself to his knees, passion seemed to be replaced by sorrow. McCoy rested his hands against her backside and pressed her close, while his lips almost reverently covered her abdomen with kisses.

Brooke could hear his breathing become more labored and soon she could feel his tears on her skin. Wordlessly, she pressed his head to her and ran a comforting hand through his hair.

"I love you Jack," she said as she fought to hold her own tears back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely as he looked beseechingly up at her.

As she met her husband's heartbreaking gaze, Brooke silently cursed her former husband: Not just for ensuring her last chance at motherhood would be for naught, but for also ensuring her current husband would be condemned to his own personal hell for making a decision he never should have been forced to make.

Brooke wordlessly turned towards the bed and methodically began turning the bedspread down.

"Come to bed," she said quietly as she took his hands and lay down on the bed. "I said I love you, Jack and I meant it. Come to bed and let me show you just how much."

"I love you too," he said as he lay down beside her and took her in his arms. "That's why the risk was just too high for me. I gambling with your life … Brooke...the cost was just too high for me."

"I know."

As they kissed once more they eventually found their limbs entwined, their lips claiming the others, and their thoughts left unspoken as they each desperately tried to take on the other's silent burden of regret and guilt.


	7. Chapter 7

Sunlight was streaming through the French doors of their hotel room by the time they woke up the next morning. Jack McCoy had just finished dressing when he heard a knock on the door. McCoy was taken aback when he found his by daughter smiling ath his confusion, when he opened the door.

Rebecca grinned at her father as he embraced her. The radiant glow coming from his daughter seemed to transform her from the unsure young girl he'd raised into a vibrant woman who was clearly confident in who she was and what the future held.

"Thank you for coming out such short notice, Daddy."

"Daddy," McCoy sputtered as he kissed her forehead and held her out for further inspection. "You haven't called me that since you turned thirteen."

"Well, I hoped I've matured a little since then," she said as she glanced around. "Where's Brooke?"

"In the bathroom getting ready. As for coming out, did you really think your old man wouldn't fly out to check out this groom of yours himself? It's not every day a man loses his only daughter."

"Oh Dad. You didn't lose me, you just gained a son-in-law."

"How did that line go over with your mother," McCoy countered with a knowing smile. "You know she's been planning your wedding since you were old enough to ask for Bridal Barbie."

Rebecca flushed slightly as she shifted her feet uncomfortably. McCoy recognized the nervous habit and his eyes widened.

"Rebecca Eileen McCoy," he said with feigned sternness. "If you think _I'm_ telling your mother you got married without her-"

"Of course not Dad! I called her to get my courage up to tell _you_ I'd gotten married without you to walk me down the aisle. I, I hope you're not too hurt-"

"Becky," McCoy began as she lifted her chin and met her sheepish gaze. "I won't say I didn't want to walk you down the aisle, but you know the bottom line for me has always been your happiness. Now, what is it you haven't told me…or your mother?"

Rebecca sighed heavily as she leaned closer to her father and looked up at him with resignation.

"Sadie,Sadie, married lady!"

The pair turned towards the bathroom and Brooke emerged, looking at the younger woman with delight as she crossed the room to embrace Rebecca. McCoy watched as the two women exchanged pleasantries. As they embraced, his daughter began to express her regrets about the baby. McCoy quickly caught her eye, as he briskly shook his head and interjected a comment about lunch to redirect the conversation.

"Actually, Charlie thought you might like to go somewhere that's still serving breakfast. There's a little café near the tower and the river-"

"He's meeting us there," McCoy asked as he reached for the two jackets that lay on a nearby chair.

"He's getting a table while I get you two."

"Well, then let's go. I have a few questions for this mystery son-in-law of mine."

"Questions? Such as," Rebecca warily asked.

"Such as, has this glorified reporter ever worked for a rag called the _New York Ledger_," McCoy shot back as he opened the door.

As the three made the short walk from the hotel to the café, Rebecca not only assured her father her new husband had no association with the _Ledger_ or any other 'National Inquire knock off' and preceded to answer the laundry list of questions about her new husband that the two prosecutors tag teamed her with.

"No, yes, and maybe," Henning deadpanned as they crossed the avenue, bringing the Eiffel Tower into view. "No, Charlie has never worked on the tabloid circuit, although he read the series the _Ledger_ ran about the falling out Dad and I had while he was living in New York a few years ago. Yes, we will definitely be back in the states when his contract is up here in a few months and there is a chance we will be moving to Manhattan. Charlie has a few offers on the table and there are more opportunities for me to expand my career if I'm closer to the major U.S. publications, so yes we are considering New York. But don't get your hopes up until he signs a contract. Remember, if we move back to the city, we'll have to find a townhouse or an apartment and you know what rent to like so…"

"You know, your Dad just got the last of his stuff out of his old place not too long ago," Brooke reminded her. "I bet if he talked to his old landlord you two could stay there, at least until you two have more time to look for something bigger."

"And if you don't mind a little commuting, you know the cottage at the beach is yours," McCoy offered while his expression betrayed his natural excitement at the prospect of having his daughter nearby.

Becky shook her head in amazement and squeezed her father's arm.

"Come on you two, let's see how things play out before we start buying furniture and picking out houses. After all, I'm still adjusting to being a bride, as well as the fact I'll be a m-"

"Becks! Over here!"

McCoy turned to follow his daughter's gaze and immediately found himself at once concerned and comforted.

The man who stood beside the gate that led to the flower adorned café by the River Seine was tall and dashing looking in his tweed jacket and Oxford shirt that was open at the neck. To McCoy's fatherly eyes Henning to be maybe a few years younger than his EADA Michael Cutter, which made him approximately ten years Becky's senior.

While the difference in age raised parental red flags, the looks the couple exchanged as they were reunited made their happiness evident to anyone with eyes.

"Daddy, Brooke, this is my husband, Charlie," Becky said excitedly as she held onto her husband's forearm.

"Jack McCoy. It is a real honor to meet you at last," the younger man as he extended his hand. "Congratulations on your appointment. Arthur Branch couldn't have picked a better replacement."

Brooke and McCoy exchanged surprised glances as the two men shook hands.

"You sound like you've been a New Yorker at some point Charlie," Brooke remarked as the hostess moved towards them.

A few minutes later the group had been seated at a table that over looked the river. Once the hostess left to fill their drink orders, Henning explained that he had been raised in Manhattan and had only left the city a decade before to take his current position with a critically acclaimed news magazine in its Paris bureau.

"I remember reading about several of your cases over the years, Mr. McCoy. In fact both my parents are quite close to Adam Schiff and he's mentioned you on more than one occasion."

"Adam was a very patient mentor," McCoy responded with the same wistful smile that came to his lips whenever he thought about his former boss.

As the two men continued to discuss matters of business and Manhattan, Becky turned to Brooke as their drinks arrived.

"How are you and Dad doing," she asked quietly after the waitress had set their drinks down and taken their order of lunch. "When Danielle called I wanted to fly home and be there for you both, but it was a zoo here. American Airlines had unexpectedly grounded its flights for maintenance checks and –"

"Listen, you're allowed to have a life. I know your Dad will appreciate the thought, but neither of us expected you to drop everything and fly home," Brooke responded in a hushed tone as she squeezed her step daughter's hand. "Your Dad is fine. He's been wonderful, but I know he needed a distraction. We both did. Your call couldn't have come at a better time," she continued as she held up Becky's hand and inspected the twin bands on her finger. "The ring is gorgeous! I want to hear every romantic detail and see every picture you had taken of the wedding. Your Dad said it was here in Paris?"

"Actually, Charlie proposed in Monte Carlo," Becky explained, as the two men turned to listen. "We'd been down there to cover a story on the annual Baccarat tournament and I had just won a hand at one of the poker tables-"

"A hand," Henning interjected incredulously as he turned to McCoy. "Beck's gift for understatement always amazes me. Your daughter won the pot in a high stakes poker game with several of the local champions. I warned her that these men were professional sharks and she informed me quite proudly, she'd been taught the game by the best and had hustled in every pool hall between Centre Street and the Bronx. Obviously, that skill paid off in Monte Carlo, as well."

McCoy smiled at the memory of the first time he and Lennie Briscoe had taken his daughter to learn the rules of the game. It was a week after her twenty-first birthday. The rift that would survive almost a decade had begun to form between them and unspoken tension hung between them the moment she'd walked into Bennie's Bar& Grill; once Briscoe arrived no trace of animosity was allowed to survive the night.

Before the night was over the two men and not only trained their young apprentice in the ways of darts and pool, Briscoe had demonstrated the numerous ways a man in a bar could try to get a bright beautiful and newly legal young woman into a less than wholesome situation and McCoy had taken on the task of teaching the novice how to pace one's drinking and walk away from a win before walking away wasn't an option.

Although their relationship deteriorated fast after that night, it was an evening that remained a fond memory in both of their minds.

"Hum, when you tell your mother this story, feel free to give Lennie all the credit for turning you into a professional gambler, will you?"

"Dad," Becky said with a knowing grin. "Where exactly did you think Mom, Danielle, and Judge Petrvosky took me the next weekend? Between Lennie and Judge Petrovsky, I'm surprised I didn't make my name in Atlantic City, instead to doing through the four years of hell you and Mom insisted on at Cornell."

As the group laughed McCoy shook his head in mock dismay.

"Just remember without that 'hell' you'd have never of landed the job that apparently landed you a husband. Oh and when exactly is your mother arriving? I'm surprised she wasn't on the first flight out when she heard about the wedding."

"She and Don were waiting for her jury to come back. She called this morning from the airport. They'll be meeting us at the villa Saturday. Actually, that works out nicely since Charlie and I have to stay in Paris until Charlie puts next month's addition to bed."

"I thought the point of this trip was for me to have time to properly interrogate the man that swept you off your feet until I was satisfied he was good enough for my daughter," McCoy joked.

"Oh you'll have time enough for that," Henning assured him. "We should be down Saturday afternoon, Saturday night the latest and our calendar's are clear until Thursday, so you'll have plenty of time to get out the rack or whatever other means of persuasion you might have in mind."

"Besides Dad, this will give you and Brooke at least one more night to yourselves. You two didn't even get a honeymoon, so just relax enjoy the train ride and make yourself home at the villa."

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

When McCoy finally laid down on the twin size bunk his daughters comments came to his mind causing him to grimace as he glanced around the tiny compartment.

"What's wrong Jack?"

"Nothing. I'm just gaining a rapid appreciation for Amtrak," he said as he gingerly rolled onto his side and faced his wife.

"Remember she's a newlywed, Jack. For her, closeness is still a romantic thing," Brooke said as she found her back pressed against the wall of the tiny sleeping compartment.

"Closeness is still romantic to me, but crowded is not. Listen, if we spoon you might have a little more room," he offered as he stood up once more.

The compartment itself looked fine in the brochure his daughter had handed him. It had a private bathroom and two twin bunks along with a small table that stood between two seats that looked out over a window that showed the French countryside as it whisked passed them while the train made its way south.

"You're sure you don't want to break down and sleep in the top bunk?"

McCoy shook his head as he lay down once more. Although he and Brooke had slept apart more than once since their recent marriage, neither of them relished the idea of being apart again. Once they had seen the sleeping choices, both had agreed a little inventiveness was better than spending even one night of their vacation in separate beds.

"If this doesn't work, I say we throw the bedcovers on the table and make a bed out of that," he replied as he wrapped his limbs around her. "How's that?"

"Better. So, what's the verdict? You still haven't told me what you think of your new son-in-law."

"She seems happy. That's what matters."

Brooke strained to look over her shoulder and meet his eyes. What she saw made her smile sympathetically.

"Becky's happiness matters. So does her father's. Tell me."

"I'll sound like a hypocrite."

"Most fathers' are," she said with a sigh. "You're a man. You see things she won't. That doesn't mean you're a hypocrite. It means you love her. Tell me."

"He's solid, or so he seems. The idea they might be back in Manhattan…that will thrill Liz…I know I'd love to have Becky closer to home. He seems smart, self assured..."

"Oh man. Are you going to make me be the bad guy? Do I have to say it," Brooke asked impatiently.

"No. I'll say it: He's too old for her."

"And she's not eating," Brooke chimed in and smiled at his surprised scowl.

"You noticed that too?"

Brooke nodded as she laboriously turned her body until she faced him once more.

"I noticed you noticing," she replied gently. "Jack, I know you know this, but it has to be said; she's not a little girl anymore. She's an internationally acclaimed photojournalist. She didn't get there being naïvee and unsure of herself. She a confident, intelligent young woman; something I have no doubt you are at least partially responsible for."

"You think I'm over reacting?"

"I think you're being protective," she countered as she ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sure you're comparing Charlie to the scoundrel you were at that age; a cocky, brass, young man who was arrogant enough to think you could take on the world and win-"

"Sounds like you did a background check on me," he grumbled.

"_I'm_ surprised you didn't do one on Charlie…you… you didn't, did you Jack," she asked with caution as McCoy lowered his eyes. "Oh man! If Becky ever finds out-"

"I didn't _do_ it, I just thought about it," he said gruffly. "If I had, I wouldn't have done a double take when I realized the man has to be a good ten years older than she is."

"Yeah, ten years," Brooke said as she tried to suppress her laughter. "That puts them miles apart."

"I told you I'd sound like a hypocrite. I know. You and I have a gap of sorts. Liz and I had nine years between us, but-"

"She's going to be _fine_, Jack. She didn't get married to shock you. She didn't get married because she had to. She got married because she loves him. You know that, right? You know no child of yours would do _anything_ they didn't want to do."

"I suppose," he grudgingly admitted. "I suppose she could have done worse."

"Harvard graduate, managing editor of one of the top magazines in the country, a guy that appears to adore her…yeah Jack… I suppose she _could_ have done worse."

"You know," McCoy began coyly as his hands noiselessly slipped under the covers. "There are consequences to being such a wise ass."

"You'll end up on the floor if you try it," she warned as his hands crept under her nightshirt.

"We'll see," he responded as she gasped while his hands mercilessly tickled and probed.

As Brooke struggled against him, eventually the hands that had been pushing him away rested on his shoulders while the tickling lessened and the probing increased before he silenced her protests with a kiss.


	8. Chapter 8

As the hands McCoy's of wrist watch signaled that it was midnight in Paris, the clock on Michael Cutter's BlackBerry in Manhattan signaled six p.m. in Manhattan. Cutter set the device down on his desk and took a quick look at his reflection in the glass of one of his office windows.

"Damn," he muttered as he moved closer to the window and tried once more straighten the crisp with bow tie that came with his rented pair of tails.

When Jack McCoy had made his last minute travel plans, his EADA had been delegated the mixed blessing of taking on all the duties of the DA in his absence; including his expected appearance at the annual Empire State Benefit for Missing and Exploited Children. An event that Cutter found worthy as well as boring.

Held at the Empire State building, the event would no doubt attract the crème of Manhattan society. Cutter expected to see not only the usual city officials and leaders in the legal and education communities, but every blue blooded socialite and their hanger's–on. It was just the kind of event both Cutter and McCoy detested.

Yet, there was one saving grace to look forward to…

"Mike the car's downstairs, so you better hurry up," Connie Rubirosa began as she sailed into the room. Taking one look at Cutter's handiwork she shook her head and undid the tie. "You and Jack. I swear don't they teach you guys this stuff in gym class or something?"

Cutter had dozens of flippant responses on the tip of his tongue verbalized none of them. While Rubirosa's slender fingers did their work, Cutter stared down at her with wonderment.

Rubirosa had left him on the courthouse steps not more than ninety minutes before. Cutter knew she had planned to dash to her hairdresser and then change for the evening, but he was nowhere near ready for the transformation that had taken place in such a short period of time.

The woman that stood before him looked more like an heiress or fashion model, than a no nonsense ADA for New York County. Rubirosa's dark hair was pulled back in an up-do with wisps of loosely curled locks framing her high cheekbones and dramatically made up face. The dress she wore was a festive red … or what the designers might call 'salsa' or some other trendy name…it was just one shade shy of the orange family. The color, along with the intricate beading, not only accented her slender frame but her skin tone and facial features.

"You're breathtaking, Connie. I've never seen anything more beautiful."

Cutter could see her cheeks instantly color as she stepped back and reached for his jacket.

"I'm representing the office," she replied modestly as Cutter's slipped on the garment beofre picking up his BlackBerry. "You don't think it's too much, do you?"

"God no. It's elegant, Connie; not flashy or cheap. It suits you well," he said seriously. "Although, I do think you might get cold with those spaghetti straps out on the observation deck."

"I thought of that, I have a schawl in my office."

Cutter nodded as he offered his arm.

"In that, case you're perfect."

After stopping to retrive Rubirosa schawl and bag, the pair moved from the tenth floor to the elevator to the waiting car. Cutter found her couldn't keep his eyes off his companion. As they strode towards the car a handful of ADA's and office staff stopped the them to comment on what a handsome couple they were.

Most of the comments were genuinely good natured. Especially the ones coming from Ron Carver and Casey Novak who had both been around long enough to know it was a matter of course that McCoy's number two would not only stand in for him at functions like the one that night, but would be expected to attend them with another member of the staff from the major felonies division.

However, the subtle cattiness of tone as well as the exchanging of knowing glances from some of the others wasn't lost on either of them.

"Connie, I'm sorry," Cutter said as he turned her while the limo pulled into traffic. "Those women are idiots who obviously have too much time on their hands. I haven't forgotten how you feel about mixing business with pleasure. When Jack gets back I intend to tell him exactly who-"

"Forget Mike," Rubrirosa responded uneasily. "It comes with the territory."

"Meaning?"

"It gets really old living with Jack's past sometimes," she said with a sigh. "Even though he hasn't had an office romance in years, even though he's a happily married man now, the McCoy Legend lives on."

"Just because he had a few relationships with a few women he worked with," Cutter said incredulously. "Most of the men in the office figure that was Jack in his heyday. Something to smile about and admire, like you do a pitcher that never seems to strike out," Cutter continued until she gave him a sideways glance. "Oh, you know what I mean. After all, anyone that has been around you two knows Jack looks at you like a daughter and it sounds like he felt the same way about his assistant before you."

"True. But, now that you're the one in the office across the hall, it's assumed…well…"

Cutter rubbed his forehead as he leaned back and studied Rubirosa's obvious embarrassment.

"It's assumed I'll follow in his footsteps," Cutter offered. "It's assumed you and me-"

"I know it sounds stupid," she interjected defensively. "But that last relationship…when Jack and Claire Kincaid were an item… it was pretty intense. I've heard it said more than once you and I will be the next McCoy/Kincaid. As if they were Tracy and Hepburn!"

"Listen, Connie. You know I'd like nothing more than to get to know you better, but I understand why I don't have a chance in hell with you romantically," he said in a reassuring tone as he reached for her hand. "You're just starting out as a major player in the office. I respect the fact you want to protect your professional reputation. But I gotta tell you; those that are jealous of your abilities will always find a way to try to get to you. If it's not this personal crap, it'll be something else. You just have to learn to focus on the fine attorney you are and ignore the rest of the crap."

As the car slowed Rubriosa smiled as she looked up and met Cutter's candid gaze.

"You think I'm a fine attorney?"

"There's no one else in the office I'd rather have in my second chair. Not even Selma."

"Selma," Rubriosa repeated with feigned ignorance.

"My assistant in narcotics," he explained as his smile deepened. "And we'll both pretend you didn't know that, along with more than I can guess."

"What makes you think-"

"Connie," he began as the driver opened the door. "Neither of us is naive. Both of us were curious. I'm sure you checked me out every bit as much as I checked you out as soon as we found out Jack was pairing us up. Face it, neither of us does well with surprises."

Rubirosa found herself thinking about her supervisor's words more than once as the evening whirled by. As much as she knew evenings like this were golden opportunities to make professional connections and to make herself known to the higher powers within the various political, social, and legal communities, Rubirosa usually dreaded the hype and the ceremony of public events.

Thankfully, once McCoy had married, duties such as this one had become less frequent. Although McCoy favored such things even less than the ADA, once he'd accepted the fact making political connections would be a necessary evil if he wanted to remain New York County's DA, the interim DA had started attending such functions more with his wife.

As she watched Cutter make yet another sweep around the deck, she had to admit he'd been a fast learner. Cutter had already made his presence known to the mayor and all the key power players within the city. This final round was reserved for the boys from Albany, while Rubirosa's goal was to mend fences with the corporate and criminal defense leaders, before assuring the social issue advocates of McCoy's concern for underprivileged children and their over representation in the criminal justice system.

"Wow! Is that you, Rubirosa? My God if I'd known you clean up this well, I'd have asked you out of sushi ages ago!"

"I assume somewhere in there was a compliment Mr. Dworkin," she said with as sigh as she slipped another glass of champagne off a passing tray as soon as she recognized the voice behind her. "So I suppose I should say 'thank you'."

"I wasn't looking for thanks, Connie. May I call you Connie?"

"I suppose it's better than what you called Jack the last time the three of us met in court," she retorted.

"Now, be nice to me. After all, I'm not just one more pain in the DA's backside defense attorney; I'm on the board of the New York County Children's Home. You know how happy Jack would be to get our endorsement when election time rolls around," Dworkin shot back good naturedly.

"Nobody tells me when to be 'nice', Mr. Dworkin," she said hotly before turning to leave. "Not Jack McCoy; certainly not you."

"Hey, wait a minute," the older man said, with real concern. "Clearly I inserted foot in mouth. When I said 'be nice' I didn't mean it in the sense of 'be nice' in the call a vice cop and have your picture plastered all over the _Ledger _sense of being nice," Dworkin explained in a way only Randall Dworkin could make believable. "I'm really sorry if that's how you took it, Ms. Rubirosa."

Rubirosa flushed as she nodded. Between that idiot juror a few weeks earlier and her own mixed feelings about pursuing a relationship with her immediate supervisor, Rubirosa knew she was more than a little sensitive to anything even hinting at sexual innuendo.

"I'm the one that should apologize, Mr. Dworkin," she said earnestly. "Jack's got nothing but respect for you. He's spoken highly of you on more than one occasion-"

"I'd guess those occasions would have been after and not during one of our heated courtroom battles," he said with a forgiving wink. "Don't answer that. I don't want to put you on the spot if old Hang 'Em High comes walking up."

"No chance of that. Jack's out of town right now, Mike Cutter's is standing in for him tonight."

"Cutter? Cutter," Dworkin murmured as he followed Rubirosa's glance across the room. "Ah, the blonde that looks like a young Ryan O'Neal in the tails? Yes, I haven't had the pleasure."

"Well, why don't I take you to-"

"Nah. Now that I know McCoy isn't around for me to throw a few barbs at, I might as well go home," he said the mock disappointment. "Jack will tell you the only reason I go to these things is to push his buttons and get a rise out of him. Hey! Listen to that!"

Rubirosa concentrated on the sound a familiar tango selection beginning on the other side of the observation deck.

"I know the song, but I can't place it."

"_Scent of a Woman_; the tango Pacino does as a blind man, without missing a step. My all time favorite dance scene – better than anything in _Saturday Night Fever_, " Dworkin said excitedly as he offered her his hand. "Would you? Please? It would just make my night to dance to that with a partner as striking as yourself. No strings I promise."

Out of a sense of obligation, she took his hand and let Dworkin lead her to the dance floor as Cutter's gaze followed her across the room.

Given the fact Randall Dworkin was nearly a foot shorter than Connie Rubirosa in spiked heels, the man was keeping up considerably well. As the dapper defense attorney skillfully led her on the dance floor, Rubirosa said a silent prayer for the dance lessons her parents had insisted the bookish teenager take during her high school years.

"I told you I wouldn't step on your toes," Dworkin proclaimed proudly as he lowered her swiftly in a dramatic dip just as a flash bulb when off in the couple's face.

After blinking several times, Rubirosa recognized the man with camera in hand as a staff photographer from the_ Ledger_.

"Oh great," Dworkin said with a dramatic roll of his eyes as they continued to dance. "Talk about dancing with the enemy! Wait 'til my partner sees _that _in the morning edition! Edgar will think I'm about to jump ship and become one of McCoy's henchmen for sure!"

The look of utter dismay on her partner's face made Rubirosa laugh with genuine mirth. The sound made Dworkin smile as the song came to an end.

"Not that it would ever happen," she joked. "But, think of what a feather in my cap it would be if Jack came back to find I had helped bring Randy Dworkin to the other side of the aisle."

"Let's see," Dworkin said as he played along good naturedly. "Thinking of the look on Jack's face...fuzzy...fuzzy...ah, got it," he continued as he grinned. "Yeah, that thought alone makes this dance not only memorable but the entire evening more than worthwhile. Thank you Connie, thank you."

Rubirosa laughed softly as she watched Dworkin stride back the a table with several defense lawyers she knew by name as the band began playing _Blue Moon_ she felt a hand on her shoulder and a glass of champagne came into sight.

"You look like you could use this," Cutter said as he lifted his own glass. "You made Dworkin look good out there. Here's to keeping the peace with the opposition. "

"Thanks," she said as their glasses met. "I didn't think you two had met?"

"I've seen him in action at the courthouse a time or two," Cutter replied vaguely. He smiled as he noticed Rubirosa's hips begin to sway in time to the music. "Blue's fan?"

"My mother is a Diane Shaw fan," she explained as she set her empty glass on a nearby table. "I can sing _Blue Moon_ in my sleep."

"You know I'd ask you to dance, but I know how that –"

"You can dance to this?"

"Try me and find out," Cutter responded gamely.

Rubirosa pondered the outstretched arms thoughtfully, once again thinking of his words.

…_focus on the fine attorney you are and ignore the rest of the crap… _She knew it was advice that was not only from the heart, but advice that made sense.

As they moved wordlessly across the dance floor each could feel the other slowly relax. Cutter closed his eyes as he inhaled the familiar scent of her perfume; the scent somehow made sweeter due to their proximity. As he carefully twirled her he smiled as the rare look of contentment his partner's face.

As much as he wanted to kiss her then and there, Cutter knew better. Not only had Rubirosa made her feelings on that score clear, but the crowd contained not only too many curious eyes and already wagging tongues, but an array of photographers as well.

"Are you ready to get out of here," she asked suddenly.

Cutter looked inquiringly down at her as he slowly nodded.

"Ready to call it a night? After the day we've had, I guess I shouldn't-"

"I said I was ready to get out of here, not call it a night," she said softly as she took his hand a led him off the dance floor.


	9. Chapter 9

_Sorry I've been slow to update. A lot of real life responsibilities this tme of year...you guys know the drill. Some of you have been waiting for more Connie and Mike and you will find it below. There will be more to follow a few chapters later, as well. Some of you are waiting for more Liz and Don and I PROMISE gthey are coming up in the next chapter or two, so be patient with me. More updates later this afternoon, after company goes home!_

An hour later Rubirosa was filling the coffee maker with water in her kitchenette as Mike Cutter loosened the thin piece of white satin around his neck and discarded his tails.

"I hope you don't mind," he began as he watched her move from the kitchen to the CD player near the fireplace.

"Not at all," she said over her shoulder as she thumbed through the collection of CD's on the entertainment center until a satisfied smile formed on her face and she inserted the disk. "After I hit the 'play' button my shoes are history. You're sure you want coffee and not a drink? I have-"

"No, I have an early game in the morning," he said as he waved a dismissive hand.

"Oh. Well, then maybe you'd rather go home," she said; suddenly unsure.

"Connie, relax," Cutter replied as a sweet sultry female voice began to sing _Blue Moon_. "If you want me to go I'll go, no questions asked. But right now there's no place I'd rather be than in your apartment drinking coffee."

The ADA bit her lip and nodded as she slipped off her heels and returned to the kitchenette.

"By the way, you were right," he added with a smile. "This Diane Shore CD is ten times better than the live music tonight. I can see why you and your mother are such avid fans."

"We heard her in London long before she made her first CD. Mom knew she would make it big," she explained as she busied herself with the coffee.

While they made small talk Cutter took note of the collection of family photos and childhood awards that rested on the mantel of her fireplace. While the apartment was significantly smaller than his two bedroom place on the Westside, Rubirosa's studio was decorated in a way that gave it an illusion of space as well as style.

Cutter found himself impressed not only with her sense of color and design, but by her ability to bring warmth and charm to a typical east village studio apartment.

"Can I help," he asked he turned back to the kitchenette.

"Maybe you could clear the coffee table for us," she said as she moved towards him. "I wasn't expecting company and I've got law journals all over it."

"Sounds like my place," he replied as he collected the assortment of journals and correspondence from the table. "Journals and briefs…oh… and of course, baseball magazines."

"Of course," she repeated as she thought about the bat that she'd seen in her supervisor's hand so many times at the office. "When did you start playing ball?"

As the hour grew later, the conversation grew more animated. The pair found themselves agreeing on the fate of the Giants, the future of all three front runners in the current presidential contest, and disagreeing about a host of other issues from the fate of abortion rights to the fate of the last play to open on Broadway that month. As the fire grew dim Rubirosa grew cold. Cutter, ever the gentleman nonchantley slipped his discarded coat over her shoulders. The conversation continued without either participate missing a beat.

As she made her way to the kitchen to make a third pot of coffee, Rubirosa caught sight of the shining numbers on the top of the oven and turned to Cutter in dismay.

"Do you know what time it is?"

"I thought about asking you that question at three, but I was afraid you'd throw me out," he admitted with a sheepish smile.

"Mike! It's after four," she gasped. "Not only did you say you have plans today, but-"

"Connie I can pitch in my sleep,"he replied as he stood and moved towards her. "Besides, you have no idea how cute you look in tails."

Rubirosa looked at her reflection in the oven glass and smiled as he came up behind her. The pair smiled at each other and the effect the oversized coat projected. Covering the majority of the sophisticated sequenced dress, the long white jacket made the formidable ADA appear a good five years younger.

"You won't be saying that when some ball coming out of left field clocks you because you're half awake."

"Anyone ever tell you that you worry too much," he asked as he stared back at the reflection.

"Anyone ever tell you you're as stubborn as Jack McCoy," she countered as she turned to face him.

Almost reflectively he bent down to kiss her. Whether due to lack of sleep or lack of warning Cutter couldn't say, but as his lips met hers, Rubirosa simply leaned in and returned the kiss without any signs of verbal or physical protest. Cutter knew better than to push his good fortune. He kept the kiss soft and sweet without making any unspoken demands.

"Tonight was amazing. I can't remember when I've enjoyed myself more. I want to see you again, Connie. I hope you're not going to bolt on me now," he said quietly as he held her gaze.

"I don't want to be your Claire Kincaid," she said frankly. "Or your Diana Hawthorne or –"

"I don't want that either," he said with equal sincerity. "From what I've heard, Jack did right by all those women, but I know what you're trying to say. If you learned anything about me in the last six months… or from whatever sources you have in Narcotics… you know I'm not a player Connie. Never had the time or the desire. From what I know of you, I know you're a straight shooter as well. So what do you say counselor? Do I have a chance with you or have I struck out before I've even had my turn at bat?"

Rubirosa sighed as she removed the jacket.

"I don't know Mike-"

"Tell you what. Why don't you get some sleep and come watch me play today? We can grab a bite afterwards and you can tell me what you've decided then," he asked as he let her slip the jacket over his shoulders.

"Why are you willing to wait? I mean, most guys-"

"Rubirosa, you know better than anyone I'm not most guys," he quipped as he lifted her chin. "As for why? At the risk of being shot down I have to tell you, I'm crazy about you Connie. I just can't walk away from you without knowing I've given this my best shot. So, what do you say?"

He could see Rubirosa's cheeks were flushed once again. It was obvious to him she'd had just as good a time as he had and was just as sorry to see the evening end. Although he understood her legitimate concern about dating her boss, Cutter could sense there was something else.

"Okay," she said at last as they started towards the door. "Where and when?"

After Cutter went through directions with her the pair exchanged a final kiss and Rubirosa began to close the door, only to have Cutter unexpectedly stick his head inside as if he'd forgotten something.

"Did you forget the BlackBerry," she asked as she glanced around the room.

"Um…no. Not that," he began tentively. "Something's been…I've wondered all evening about…"

"Mike, just ask."

"Your dress," he said at last; obviously afraid he might be pushing his good fortune.

"Oh, I have a friend that works at Bergdorf's," she began. "She always gets me a good deal when I need-"

"No. I mean. The dress…_this_ dress. This is what you were planning to wear when you thought you were going with Jack last night? I mean…"

As he saw her cheeks go from pink to beet red Cutter mistakenly took her reaction as one of a person who had been offended.

"Don't they say 'dress to impress," Rubirosa stammered coolly; her gaze not quite meeting his.

"Not that it wasn't entirely appropriate for the occasion -," he hurriedly continued as he feared the hole he'd fallen into was growing deeper by the minute. "It's just –"

"No," she said simply as she looked up at him with an embarrassed gaze of her own.

"No?"

"No, this isn't the dress I was going to wear when I thought I was going with Jack," she reluctantly admitted, while she thought of the conservative black velvet gown she had hurriedly exchanged after court that afternoon.

"It's not," he asked as he processed her words.

"No."

"Really," he said in a tone mixed with delight and surprise.

"Yes, really."

"Wow," he said as the meaning of her words began to sink in.

"Mike. I admitted it. You caught me. I'm embarrassed enough without you-"

"You shouldn't be," he said with a smile as he kissed her cheek. "I'm flattered. I really am. Sleep well, but not too well. Don't forget to set your alarm. Today it will be my turn to impress _you_, Consuela. "


	10. Chapter 10

"Well, I'm impressed," Jack McCoy said to himself as he scanned the _New York Ledger,_ via the internet_._

After departing the 'sardine express' as McCoy had dubbed the night train that had taken them from Paris to the southern tip of France, he and his wife had collapsed in the first of the seven the spacious bedrooms that were housed in Le Villa de Hastings. After a nap and a long, hot shower McCoy had put on a pair swim trunks and a tee shirt before venturing towards the French doors leding to an Olympic pool over looking the Mediterranean Sea. The computer in the library he stumbled upon along the way caused him to make a quick detour.

"Looks like somebody got sidetracked," Brooke said as she peered over his shoulder at the screen. "Are you homesick all ready?"

"I just thought I'd see if Mike made it to the benefit last night. Image my surprise when I saw Connie's dance partnerTake a look at this."

Brooke did as she was told and immediately began to giggle.

"Maybe she was on a recruiting drive and she landed Randy. Gee Jack if I'm right, you could have Randall Dworkin, Esquire right down the hall from you. Just think about the fun you two could have all day,_ every_ day."

"Don't joke about something like that," he deadpanned. "Even Mike doesn't look too thrilled with this Dworkin business."

"Where?"

"There, in the corner."

Brooke leaned in as she squinted. After a moment she nodded in agreement as she studied a dismayed looking Cutter standing in the background. Brooke smiled knowingly at the obvious reason for the EADA's discomfort.

"When it happens, you know you can't say a word after all of the office romances you've had."

McCoy gave her a skeptical glance as he swiveled the chair around.

"Ever here the expression 'do as I say, not as I do'?"

"Ever hear the expression 'live and let live'?"

"Live and let die would be more fitting for a prosecutor," he muttered.

"When you're done, I should check the _Islip Bulletin_ and see how Jake's doing with the Messer case."

"In a minute," he said as he slipped an arm around her and pulled her onto his lap. "First, I want to know what happened to the purple bikini."

Brooke looked down at the conservative blue one piece she'd pulled from her suitcase that morning and then challengingly back at her husband.

"Why? Does this one make me look fat?"

"Don't put words in my mouth," he countered with a chuckle. "You know I like the purple."

"Too much skin in front of your ex-wife and daughter. That's why I didn't pack it."

"I knew you'd say that, so I packed it in my bag," he said with a triumphant smirk. "Besides, no one's here yet. Go change and we can take a walk on the beach, maybe get some sun before Liz and Don get here."

"It would serve you right if I went out and found you a _Speedo_ to wear," she countered with a smirk before turning towards the door.

Not long afterwards the pair found themselves walking passed trendy shops and a variety of food and drink outlets on their way to the beach. After making a brief stop to acquire a few provisions for their afternoon excursion, the couple continued on their journey.

"Are you going to tell me what you found out about Charlie while I was upstairs or do I have to do my own Google search," Brooke asked.

McCoy looked at his wife with wide eyes as he began short lived protests that were silenced by Brooke's unwavering gaze.

"I found their marriage announcement in one of the local papers along with a picture of them from the day of the ceremony."

"And?"

Brooke listened intently as McCoy indifferently rattled off facts about his new son in law.

Charles Walter Henning was a graduate of Harvard's class of 1990, from which he'd immediately found a position with the _New York Times_ that he stayed with for the next five years. After making a name for himself on the _Times_ international desk, the young reporter was noticed by the managing editor for _Reuter's_ foreign correspondence bureau. Henning spent the next several years as a roving correspondent who covered such hot beds as the Sudan and Afghanistan. Never married, McCoy found nothing about the other man's personal life and nothing of consequence in the criminal records section of his profile.

"Did you really expect to find anything in the criminal records data base," Brooke asked amusement as McCoy led her across the sand towards one of the less populated areas by the water."God Jack, I hope you remembered not to leave a trail on that computer. After all, I'm sure his parents use it when they use the villa."

"I don't know why everyone seems to think I'm a technological idiot," he shot back impatiently. "I've worked on enough cases involving computer fraud to know to delete any trace I'd even been on the machine and if you'd seen some of the characters my daughter brought home as a teenager, you'd have looked at the criminal records data base yourself."

"Fine. At least you put your mind at ease that Charlie's not a felon and he doesn't have a woman waiting for him in every port."

"He's a risk taker though," he said with sudden seriousness as he joined Brooke on the blanket. "When he was covering Beijing, Henning was expelled for writing about human rights violations by the Chinese government. In Iraq, he was jailed for five days on suspected terrorist charges."

"Jack, did you expect a daughter of yours would be happy with a safe little pencil pusher," Brooke asked as she handed him one of two sandwiches in her hands.

"After the hell Becky's given Liz and myself over the years for taking what she viewed as unnecessary chances, yes. I thought she'd end up with an accountant or a stock broker with a quiet life in the suburbs with 2.5 kids."

"I thought you knew women. I thought you at least knew your own child."

"Let me guess, it that 'bad boy' thing," McCoy said with a grimace as a long forgotten conversation with his former assistant Serna Southeryn jumped to the front of his consciousness. "I thought women out grew that kind of thing when they left school."

"Some women never out grow it," she remarked as she thoughtfully took another bit of her sandwich. "And Becky being your daughter…well…"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I'm sure Becky adored her tough talking, motorcycle riding Dad when she was little. Later, when she grew up and found out someone with such a 'bad boy' persona was equally hard headed about his principals, I'm sure she looked for those qualities in the men she got involved with."

"In other words; it's my fault she's chosen the men she has?"

"Exactly, "Brooke replied with a satisfied nod as she wiped her hands before fishing a bottle of sun tan lotion from one of the brown sacks.

"You sound like my ex-wife."

"I know Judge Donnelly by reputation, so I'll take that remark as a compliment. Now, make yourself useful and put some of this on my back."

"My pleasure," he replied as McCoy watched her remove the oversized cotton shirt that had covered her bikini.

McCoy slipped off his own shirt and squeezed some of the slick, sweet smelling liquid into his palms before running his hands over her slender shoulders.

Brooke smiled a catlike smile as she settled into the sandy mattress beneath the blanket. She felt an immediate sense of well being come over her as his hands continued down her back.

As his hands moved firmly, appreciatively over her, Brooke closed her eyes and let her mind focus on the warmth of the hands that quickly moved her thoughts to their love making the night before. Soon, she felt his breath on her neck as he leaned in to kiss her.

"Time for the other side," he said softly as he offered her his hand.

Brooke nodded as she reached up and pulled him to her. As his lips met hers, McCoy lay on his side. His limbs wrapped around hers as the last of his own cares disappeared, as well.

"Why don't you two just go get a room?"

The sound of her voice so surprised him that McCoy instinctively pulled back from his current wife.

"Liz."

The woman in the emerald one piece suit gave him the mocking scowl he knew so well. It was a look of disapproving superiority with the faintest hint of amusement.

Brooke observed the two with open amusement as McCoy reached for his shirt before standing.

"Well, don't get dressed on my account Jack. It's not like we're still married."

"You're in better spirits than I expected," McCoy shot back as he offered Brooke his hand."Given the fact three fourths of what you've collected in your hope chest for our daughter became obsolete over night."

"I won't say I'm thrilled Rebecca eloping, but bridal shower napkins and lace keepsakes are the least of my concerns."

Brooke smiled at the man in Bermuda shorts and a straw hat that stood beside Judge Elizabeth Donnelly.

"We didn't expect you two until early this evening," Brooke said. "Becky didn't think you'd be leaving Manhattan until sometime Friday night. She said you were waiting on a verdict?"

"Jury surprised everyone and came back before lunch," Donnelly explained. "Luckily, Don had already taken the whole day so he could run some last minutes errands before we left New York. We were able to push the reservation forward … What am I thinking? You two haven't met have you? Brooke McCoy, Don Cragen."

"I know Captain Cragen by reputation," Brooke said she silently recalled the roll the captain had played in helping McCoy and Mike Logan gather evidence against Brooke former brother in law nearly a year before.

After pleasantries were exchanged, Cragen mentioned his desire for a bottle of_ Perrier_ water. Brooke recognizing the request as a subtle way to give the two parents a chance to compare notes on their daughter, slipped on her cover up and walked with Cragen towards the row of concession stands in the distance.

McCoy motioned towards the blanket as he sat and shifted through the bags.

"I can offer you a can of _Coke_ or a bottle of pink lemonade. If you want something stronger, we'll have to hike back up –"

"I drank enough on the plane so I could be civil to our child when she met us at the airport," Donnelly remarked as she reached for the lemonade. "God, do you believe it? Not only does she run off and get married, she does it in another country! We're we really such horrible parents that she couldn't have at least invited us to her wedding?"

"Come on Liz," McCoy said as he wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. "You know it wasn't about us. She's young. She's in love and she was in Paris. What more-"

"Monte Carlo," Donnelly spat back after swallowing some lemonade. "He proposed to her in Monte Carlo. The least she could have done was to call us and ask us to meet them in Paris for the ceremony."

"Maybe she didn't want to go through all the hassle her parents did when they tried to tie the knot," he countered thoughtfully. "It took us three tries, remember? Even then, it was touch and go for a while."

"_We_ didn't have a relative with the authority to marry us," Donnelly said with a smirk. "I'm a judge, Jack. I could have-"

"Liz, it's done. Now, I did ask Becky about a reception or even a second ceremony and she said if it meant that much to you, she and Charlie-"

"To me? No," Donnelly said softly. "If Rebecca's content with things as they are, I can't ask her to go through a ceremony in Manhattan just to pacify me."

"Meaning you're saving the guilt for something you want her to do more," McCoy said with a chuckle.

"Jack McCoy! How can you even think-," Donnelly began with feigned innocence.

"Because I was married to you for ten years; definitely long enough to know how you operate. Now, let me guess…you want her to convince her husband to move close to you when they come back to New York?"

"Well do you blame me," Donnelly answered defensively. "I mean, this_ will_ be our first grandchild. I'll be retiring in a few…" Donnelly voice trailed off as the color drained from McCoy's face.

Silently she chastised her only child. Donnelly knew her daughter had been apprehensive about telling both her father and new stepmother about her pregnancy; even more than one would naturally expect, given that her father and his wife had just lost a child of their own. At first Becky had wanted her mother to do it and Donnelly declined swiftly and firmly.

"_He's your Father, Rebecca. I'm not doing your dirty work for you" Donnelly had told her daughter. "He deserves to hear it from you."_

"Jack, I'm sorry," Donnelly said as she took off her sunglasses and searched his face as she tried to accurately assess the damage. "She was supposed to tell you before you left Paris."

McCoy abruptly stood and began gathering his belongings.

"Jack, what…where are you going," Donnelly demanded after standing and watching him scoop up the blanket before he began to swiftly stride towards the boardwalk. "Damn it Jack! I know you're upset, but-"

"Listen, when you see Brooke just tell her to head back to Manhattan and I'll call her after-"

"What," Donnelly snapped as she reached for his arm with both hands in an effort to slow him down. "Just stop and tell me where the hell you think you're going!"

"Can't involve another officer of the court in a homicide."


	11. Chapter 11

"Oh for God's sake, don't even joke about something like that."

McCoy turned and suddenly faced her with a look that held anything but humor.

"This son of a bitch not only takes advantage of our daughter, but gets her pregnant and you think I'm joking?"

"Will you calm down and listen," she hissed as she smiled sweetly at a passing couple who were eying the bellowing American with alarm.

"Fine. I'm calm. I'm listening," McCoy sullenly stated twenty minutes later after the waiter sat a double scotch on the rocks in front of him.

Donnelly removed the slender straw from her vodka gimlet and glanced around the small outdoor café.

"She didn't marry Charlie because of the baby," Donnelly began.

"And you know that how? Because that's what she says now that it's too late?"

"I know that because I know our child. If our daughter doesn'y want this child, Becky is well aware of how to avoid having it," Donnelly shot back. "This is France not New York. Abortion isn't the ordeal here that is in some parts of the U.S. Besides, she's _happy_ Jack. She's looking forward to the baby coming. So is Charlie."

McCoy seemed to ponder his ex-wife's words as he stared at the bottom of his glass.

"If she's so happy about being a mother, why was she so afraid to tell her father that's she's pregnant?"

"Oh, I think you can guess."

McCoy turned his gaze from the glass to his ex-wife. The large dark eyes held a look of genuine concern as Donnelly watched McCoy process her words.

"I appreciate Becky wanting to be sensitive to my feelings right now, but if she's really happy, did she honestly think I wouldn't be equally happy to know I was going to become a Grandfather?"

"Jack, you know communication has never been strength for her when it comes to her parents. Especially when it comes to her Father."

"Point taken," he replied he thought about the battle of wills that had led to a near decade of silence between father and daughter. A battle that seemed so trivial now, he couldn't barely remember how it began.

"How _are_ you doing Jack? I mean, really," Donnelly asked as she placed her hand on top of his. "'I'm sorry' seems like such a meaningless thing to say."

"You and I know these things take time. Even though I basically made the decision for us both, it wasn't a choice I wanted to make…"

"No one ever wants to give up a child Jack. Even when the reasons are right and in this case, the reasons _were_ right," she said frankly. "No one can fault you for putting Brooke's health above anything else. No matter what she says Jack; Brooke knows you didn't have any other choice."

McCoy raised an eyebrow as he nodded and squeezed her hand.

"This sounds like more than women's intuition."

Donnelly shrugged her shoulders as she drank some of the gimlet.

"I was on Danielle's list of people to call when you and Brooke decided to terminate the pregnancy. She thought Becky might take the news better if she heard if she from me. Since then, I've been keeping tabs on you through her."

"Why?"

"Because I know better than anyone how losing a child affects you. Just because we're not married anymore, doesn't mean I don't care. From what I've heard from Danielle it sounds like you're the only one Brooke hasn't lashed out at."

"If you're talking about that business with Jackowicz a few weeks ago-"

"I'm talking about that and the things she had to say to her Ex," Donnelly said bluntly.

McCoy sighed as he finished his drink and gave her a sly smile.

"If you think I'm going to shed any tears for Sam Prescott, you better prepare to be disappointed."

"What I think is that _you_ better be prepared for your turn, Jack. I'm not saying Brooke doesn't have a right to whatever she feels right now. I'm just saying if you think it's over because she making all the right noises when you're in the room, you're the one that needs to prepare to be disappointed. There's no way she can keep pushing those feelings down indefinitely."

"I know this isn't something that goes away over night. I'm just hoping that being away for a few days will at least help give us both some perspective."


	12. Chapter 12

While Donnelly and McCoy were been having their parental moment, Brooke and Cragen spent the afternoon perusing the local shops and walking along the beach in search of sea glass.

As the pair scavenged for the treasured glass, Cragen endeared himself to Brooke by relaying amusing stories of McCoy's early days in Major Felonies; stories that included McCoy's brushes with the high and mighty in Manhattan society, as well as a certain tough and street savvy Irish homicide detective. Brooke laughed until her side hurt after Cragen told her about the oil and water relationship of Jack McCoy and Mike Logan.

"I thought you had gone to the SVU by then," Brooke said between gasps of laughter.

"Actually, Lennie Briscoe – Mike's partner at the time- filled me in after the fact. I'll tell you Brooke, those two could be brothers. Jack and Mike, that is. They're both so freaking hard headed, yet so sharp as well."

"Yeah, I've seen that more than once," Brooke commented as she handed Cragen a particularly large piece of translucent blue glass. "Now, I found out about this stuff when I came to Europe for a student exchange program one summer; I assume this isn't your first trip away from the States either?"

Cragen shook his head.

"I did a tour of duty in Germany when I was a kid in the Air Force. When I went on leave, some of us headed to Monte Carlo and the shore. There were tons of this stuff on the beaches down there, as opposed to the needles and aluminum cans tourists see on the beaches in New York."

Brooke nodded in agreement as she thought about the last beachside crime scene she'd been to.

"Do you think Liz still has enough clout with Jack to convince him there are worse things than his daughter marrying a man a few years older than she is?"

"Oh I think the age thing will be the least of Jack's worries when Liz is done with him," Cragen said with a grin.

The curious look on Brooke's face told Cragen that despite Rebecca McCoy-Henning's well meaning assurances, one way or another the young bride had not told her father of her impending motherhood. While Cragen was the master of the poker face in any work situation that arose, when it came to personal matters, the man was an open book.

Brooke's eyes widened as she saw the captain awkwardly study the piece of glass he held as if it were the Hope diamond.

"Don? Is something wrong? I don't mean to be noisy, but if it has anything to do with Becky I'd like to help, if I can."

"Actually," he said with a sigh as he dropped the glass into the bag in his hand. "I wouldn't say anything is wrong…listen, Liz mentioned you and Jack…well, I know there were problems with your pregnancy-"

Taken off guard, Brooke's expression tightened as she responded to Cragen more harshly than she had intended.

"The only 'problem' with that pregnancy was that neither of us had enough faith to see it through."

The look on Cragen's face made her immediately regret her words. As the captain awkwardly made an attempt to apologize, Brooke's momentary bitterness gave way as a reason for Cragen's remark entered her mind.

"We were talking about Becky before I bit off your head," she said in a softer tone as she gently squeezed his arm. "Don, I wasn't thinking…Are you trying to say Becky's pregnant?"

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Jack McCoy followed the sound of the hair dryer to find his wife smiling at his reflection in the bathroom mirror when he joined her. Smiling back, her snaked his arms around her waist as she turned off the machine and reached for the plain paper bag in front of her.

Uncertain as to how to begin, yet knowing he had to tell his wife what he had learned from his former wife before the newlyweds arrived for dinner, McCoy started to speak only to find a finger covering his lips as Brooke thrust the bag towards him.

"I assume your afternoon with Liz was enlightening," she asked mischievously. Brooke's smile deepened as McCoy solemnly nodded. "Good. Then I assume it's safe to give you this."

McCoy cocked an eyebrow as he peered in the bag. After pulling out a tee shirt that was embellished with a cartoon baby building sandcastles with a character resembling Mr. Magoo as words that were unrecognizable to the DA hung above the scene.

"Are you trying to tell me the grey is giving me the Magoo mystique,"McCoy curiously inquired.

"No, read the top,' she said with a laugh and then shook her head. "Wait. I forgot. You do Latin, not French. Loosely translated it says 'Number One Grandpa'."

"Cragen told you?"

As much as he wanted to believe the warm smile and mischievous gleam in his wife's eyes reflected her turn feelings about his daughter's latest surprise, McCoy knew his wife well enough to suspect he was seeing only what Brooke wanted him to see.

"He thought we already knew," Brooke explained, as she tightened the belt of her robe. "I assume Liz filled you in on the specifics? From what I understand, Becky and Charlie are thrilled at the prospect of being parents. I hope that means you are equally thrilled that you're going to be a Grandpa?"

"If you're asking me if Henning will be taking breath if he's left alone with me tonight, you can rest assured if Becky confirms what Liz told me, he's dodged the bullet until such time as I find he's made my daughter unhappy in _any _way."

"Spoken like a good father," Brooke said as she held the tee shirt across his chest. "I think you should shower and wear this to dinner. That would reassure your daughter her husband is really safe. At least for the time being."

"If we weren't meeting them at that five star restaurant by the beach, I'd have no problem with that. But seeing as a jacket and tie are required…," he said before sighing and taking her hand before leading her back into the bedroom. "You don't have to do this, Brooke. This wasn't easy news for either of us to hear. If I'd had any idea… if I'd even known they were considering starting a family…"

"You'd what Jack? You'd of not come out and met you daughter's new husband? You would have left me in Manhattan to try and spare me? Come on Jack. This is wonderful news. Exciting news. Do you really think I'm selfish enough to want to take that away from Becky? Or you?"

"Never selfish," he said softly as they sat down on the bed. "Listen. I know how I felt when I heard the news. I can only image how it hit you…"

The worry lines on her husband's face served to make Brooke even more impatient with the emotions she was feeling; emotions that her mind served no purpose and where best left within the confines of her mind. She desperately wanted to not only see her husband joyful and hopeful about having a new child in his life, but tof feel the same joy and hope herself.

"Now you listen," she said as she ran a hand over the five o'clock shadow that darkened his cheeks. "Wallowing in my own misery isn't going to bring our child back. I am more than fond of your daughter. Becky is as close as I've ever been to having a daughter myself. I'll admit I was taken by surprise when Don told me she was pregnant, but that doesn't mean I'm not happy for her…or you. You'll be a wonderful grandfather and let's be honest; being a grandfather is really what suited you from the start."

"Brooke just because-," he began before she leaned in a pressed her lips to his.

Initially he pulled back in a effort to break the kiss and not let Brooke's words hang in the air unchallenged, but as she tightened her grip on him and her lips grew more insistant, McCoy relented and slowly lowered them onto the mattress.

"You're wrong," he whispered after the pair had exchanged a series of tender, yet passionate kisses.

"I don't want to argue," she replied as they lay on their sides, limbs entwined as they held each other's gaze. "I know I've been self indulgent and more than difficult the last month or so and I'm not happy about it."

"No one expects you to go on as if nothing happened."

"Hush. We didn't come here to rehash what we can't change-"

"Brooke you can't pretend-"

"Yes. Yes I can," she said stubbornly as she held his face between her hands. "Right now I can, because in less than an hour we're having dinner with your daughter and your ex-wife and I refuse to ruin the evening for any of you. Besides, I have other things on my mind right now."

"Such as?"

"Such as the fact I'm in France with the man I love," she said softly. "God Jack, when I think of everything we've been through since that day on your front porch at the beach house… that crazy plot of Samantha Weaver's and Diana Hawthorne's-"

"Oh God, don't remind me," he said with a groan as he fell back on the mattress.

"Hey, it's what brought us together. That has to be some kind of silver lining," she said with a smile as she rested her body on top of his. "Then the shooting and my transfer to Florida… God do you remember how much fun we had those six months? Even with the plane hopping, I think those were the days we spent the most time just being together…just enjoying each other's company."

"Great sex, twenty four hour room service and no way for me to end up at the office on the weekend," he quipped with a nod. "Hard to image anything better than that."

"Except being married to me, of course?"

"Of course," he deadpanned before giving her a peck. "Those were wonderful times."

"Yes, they were. No distractions, no complications, no kidnappers or ex-husbands reappearing. It was just us then and I was happy Jack. I was really happy. I want us to be happy like that again. Do you think that's too much to hope for?"

McCoy could see the playfulness fade from her manner to be replaced by a wistfulness that made him want to do nothing more than reassure her. McCoy drew Brooke close as he closed his eyes and began to whisper his response, only to be interrupted by an impatient knock on the door.


	13. Chapter 13

"I just talked to Mom. She told Brooke and Dad to get a move on. They should be here within the next ten minutes," Rebecca Henning said to her husband as she slid into the seat beside him.

"Did she say if your father managed to find an arms dealer since he found out you were pregnant?"

"Mom said my Father is thrilled about becoming a Grandfather. My Stepmother has already bought him his first Grandpa tee-shirt. That should put your mind at ease," she said with a chuckle. "Besides, if my Dad really wanted to take someone out, he knows mafia hit men that he wouldn't have to dirty his own hands."

"That makes me feel so much better," Henning said with a weak smile as the cocktail waitress returned with his martini and her_ Perrier_. "Between your father and your mother's boyfriend, chances are there's a squad of assassins boarding a flight out of JFK to hunt me down as we speak."

"Don't be so dramatic."

"That's what _I_ said when you met _my_ parents and you thought they'd assume because you're so young and beautiful that you were a gold digger after the family fortune."

Becky flushed slightly as she played with her straw while she thought about her own nervousness at meeting her in-laws. She could understand Henning's apprehension, but being the rebel she was, she knew in her heart she cared little if at all whether either of her parents disapproved of her decision to marry. They'd raised her to be independent and make her own decisions…to trust her instincts…now that she had, she couldn;t have felt more confident.

"That was different. _Your_ mother has a serious amount of personal wealth she's passing down to you when the time comes. I'll be lucky to inherit the beach house and not have to sell it off to pay for funeral expenses, given the fact my parents are both lowly civil servants. Be sides, I was wrong. Your Mom and her husband were wonderful. My parents will be too."

"I'd hardly call a district attorney and a superior court judge lowly, but the bottom line is your Dad wanted to kill me the minute he laid eyes on me and I can't say that I blame him. If you were my daughter, I wouldn't want you to be married to an old man either, especially one inept enough to get you pregnant before he married you."

"Hum, I think we both had something to do with that wonderful ineptness," she said mischievously as she entwined the fingers of her free hand with his. "As for this age thing you forget, my father has _absolutely_ no room to talk."

"That's what has me so worried," Henning admitted. "Your Dad probably thinks you married a copy of himself and I'll bet that scares the hell out of him. Since we both know your Dad is too tough to admit fearing anything, that leaves violence and intimidation to appease those horrifying thoughts that are flying through his mind when he sees us together."

"'Horrifying thoughts that are flying through his mind'? How poetic. No wonder you have a bookcase full of journalism awards," she teased. "Very lyrical, very expressive, but very off base. If the truth be told, it was always my mother who _really_ struck fear into my heart when I was in trouble. Man that Donnelly stare...," Becky said as she involuntarily shivered. "I can handle my Dad, no problem."

Henning rolled his eyes as he took a swallow of his martini; drinking for more than a little bit of courage as he thought about the grey in his sideburns and the crows feet that seemed to have become more prominent over night, once he'd set his sights on the young, exciting, and extraordinarily gifted freelance photographer that had captured his heart the moment she walked into his office four months before.

"You can tease me all you want Becks, but I'm still as mystified as your father probably is as to how I was lucky enough to win your heart," he said with sudden seriousness as he squeezed her hand before resting their hands on her stomach. "You add to that the fact I not only got you to marry me, but that you're willing to have my child when your own career is just starting to take off-"

"Listen, anyone can click a camera. Careers are highly over rated. If there's anything I learned from my parents, it's not to sacrifice what's really important in the name of a career. If my mother had learned that lesson, she'd probably still be married to my father."

"And where would that leave Brooke and me?" Don Cragen laughed good naturedly as he took pleasure in watching his girlfriend's daughter turn increasingly darker shades of red. "It's a rare day anyone gets the better of a McCoy and a near impossible day anyone even comes close to taking a Donnelly off guard, so excuse me while I gloat now that I seem to have managed to do the impossible with the genetic highbred."

"Don, I-I didn't mean…you know what I meant…right?"

"Right," the captain said as he grinned down at the couple. "Everyone wants their parents to be together…even if it means homicide is the inevitable result."

"Hum, I don't see Mom with you," she continued as she scanned the room anxiously. "She didn't…I mean… she wasn't with you-"

"Come on Becky, if your mother had been standing here and heard what you said, do you really think she wouldn't have made her presence known," Cragen replied with a chuckle. "The others are in the dining room. They sent me to let you two know the table is ready. Bet you didn't realize just how entertaining your bride can be, did you Charlie?"

Throughout dinner the frustrated fiction writer in Charles Henning found himself observing his companions with the detachment he usually reserved for interviews with heads of state or celebrities. Anyone would have to agree the group was an intriguing mix: The Ex's making what appeared to be a genuine effort at civility towards each other and their significant others, as they sent silent messages to one another about the scoundrel that had whisked away their only child and made her his wife.

The gorgeous ingénue that had the world at her feet and blithely chose to settle for her seemly sophisticated older boss. A bright and shining star that glowed with the glow of happiness at the prospect of being a wife and mother. Henning feared once the glow began to fade, his shining star would one day wake up from her daydream of bliss and realize how much more she deserved.

The savvy NYPD captain, who as a Special Victims Unit and former homicide commander had seen things no one else should see, as evidenced by the natural frown on his lips and the look of weariness that never quite left his eyes, even as he laughed at yet another humoress tale the lovely judge who seemed to see into his soul told. Elizabeth Donnelly's dry humor and sardonic manner seemed to be the perfect foil to bring a sense of humanity back to the man who clearly stuck to sparking water for more reasons than just a need to moisten his parched throat.

The gruff yet charming DA across from Henning and his bride who were hardly more than newlywed themselves. Another older, world wise man with a younger, albeit hardly ingénues woman; yet a woman who still had considerable beauty and a sense of vulnerability about her that instinctively made her husband protective and attentive. A couple who chatted causally about the impending birth of one child, while clearly devastated by the loss of another.

_Yes, the evening has the making of a Noel Coward play_, Henning thought as he watched the waitress set his dessert in front of him_. Drama, passion, humor, regrets…and hopes…God, such an amazing amount of hope. So much of it pinned on a person who is little more than a hope himself…_

Henning discreetly surveyed the group once more, suddenly aware of the fact the child his wife was carrying wasn't the result of ineptness or any other manmade plan. It was crystal clear their child was not only loved by every person around the table ,but needed on one level or another, as well.

Henning met his wife's curious smile and slipped his hand once again against her stomach; unaware of the knowing smiles that accompanied the amused glances that were on him.

"Charlie, you've been awfully quiet," Becky remarked. "Don't tell me you have no opinion on the matter?"

"Hum…should I have one," he asked sheepishly realizing his internal monologue had made him completely obvious to the new topic of conversation.

"Well, if you have to ask-"

Henning gave his bride a quick kiss on the cheek and cut her off with a quicker whisper her in ear before he stood and started towards their waiter.

McCoy's eyes followed the younger man while the rest of the group prodded Rebecca for an explanation. When he followed suit a moment later, Brooke shrugged her shoulders as McCoy joined the two men across the room.

"Apparently the father of the bride would like a moment with his new son-in-law," she explained to those who remained at the table.

"Oh God," Becky groaned as she started to stand, only to have her mother give her a look that made her rethink her decision.

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Although it only took Jack McCoy a few quick strides to join Charlie Henning across the room, by the time he reached his destination the younger man had already handed the waiter his gold card.

"Your fast, I'll give you that."

"Force of habit. It's the only way to beat the competition to the story, Jack. Besides, all of you have already spent a fortune flying out here to wish us well," Henning said as the waiter departed. "The least we can do is cover this evenings expenses."

"Point taken," McCoy said as he glanced at the men's salon across the hall. "But the next tab is mine. I don't suppose you'd care to join me for an after dinner cigar?"

Henning could see his wife's concerned stare over McCoy shoulders. He gave her a reassuring smile before turning to follow McCoy out of the room.

"Don, why don't you go-"

"Oh no you don't young lady," Elizabeth Donnelly said with a smirk. "Don didn't come to the South of France to play referee between your father and your husband. Besides, if Charlie's survived the darkest jungles of Outer Mongolia to get a story, I'm sure he'll hold his own with your father for a few minutes."

"Mother really," Becky said indignantly as she tossed her napkin on the table. "Charlie married me. He didn't commit a major felony. There's no reason Dad should be allowed go into his ruthless prosecutor routine."

"Tough, Don's got other plans at the moment," Donnelly said as she stood and took Cragen's hand. "My ears hear music. My feet say dance."

As Donnelly led the captain towards the lounge, Becky looked imploringly at her Stepmother.

"I guess this is one of those times you wish I was the Julia Roberts type, instead of the Cinderella type of Stepmom," Brooke said as she set her glass of wine down and smiled across the table at the young woman.

"This isn't funny. You know how he is Brooke. If you won't go break the interrogation up, I guess I'll have to do it and risk damaging the baby's development by giving it a good whiff of second hand smoke," she replied sarcastically; immediately regretting her words. Although she tried to hide her reaction, the slight widening of Brooke's eyes as they wavered from Becky's pleading stare, tipped the younger woman off immediately that she had inadvertently hit a nerve. "I'm such an idiot. Brooke-"

"God Becky don't you start doing it too," Brooke snapped impatiently as she picked up her glass.

"Doing it?"

"Walking on egg shells with me. You made an innocent remark, don't even think about apologizing or there thereing me. As for your Dad, if they aren't back within the next fifteen minutes I'll make a stab at putting Charlie out of his misery, but not before then. I suspect Jack just feels compelled to get to know his new son-in-law a little better."

"Who else is walking on egg shell with you," the younger woman asked earnestly.

"It's just a figure of speech," Brooke responded as she vaguely gestured with her free hand while she brought the wineglass to her lips.

Becky studied her stepmother carefully. As she listened to Brooke make a deliberate effort to steer the conversation away from herself, Becky's surge of protectiveness shifted focus from her husband and to the woman in front of her.

"I'm sorry you guys are going through this-"

"Don't be. We made a choice. Now about-"

"'A choice'," Becky repeated incredulously. "There _was_ no choice, Brooke. That's what makes it so sad."

"Becky, please. I told you when we had lunch in Paris; we're focusing on _you_. It's bad enough I've bit off the head of just about everyone that's had the misfortune to cross my path since the abortion and I managed to spread enough good cheer at the office that I'm back on leave for the millionth time in the last year or so. I just want to enjoy our time with you before it's time for us to go back home."

"Brooke, if you're afraid you'll crush my fragile ego with a sharp tone and a few harsh words, let me remind you I _am_ a McCoy. Now, let's try this again. I want to hear it. All of it and I want to hear it now."

Brooke smiled despite the annoyance she felt at being unable to dodge the young woman's inquiries. She had always seen the resemblance between daughter and father, but as the delicate face grew a scowl like expression, Brooke was amazed how instantly Becky Henning became a more youthful and feminine picture of the Jack McCoy defense lawyers had come to loathe and fear.

"I thought you wanted to smoke a cigar Jack," Henning said in the next room, with amusement as he watched his father-in- law slip a fine Cuban cigar inside his jacket pocket.

"I'm sure you have an idea of why I wanted to speak to you without Rebecca present," McCoy said; ignoring the remark as he fixed his most intimidating glare on the other man. "I think enough smoke as been blown. I'd like to clear the air, right here, right now."


	14. Chapter 14

Henning's days as a young correspondent in the wilds of Africia suddenly leap into theyounger man mind. Back then, he had seen the same protective gaze that Jack McCoy held in his eyes, reflected in the eyes of a mother tiger who had unexpectedly had her den invaded by the writer and his camera man. Instinctively, henning had stared the irate mother down and held his ground. Henning hoped the same tactic would work with irete human parents, as he met McCoy's gaze with a defiant stare of his own.

"It's not like I haven't been expecting something like this. Jack, I love your daughter. For some reason I still haven't figured out, she loves me. If that isn't –"

"Exactly how old are you," McCoy cut in bluntly.

"I'm thirty seven. I make a hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year – plus the company car and expense account – I've never been married and I have no children legitmate or otherwise, as I'm sure you were able to ascertain via whatever P.I. firm you've hired to investigate me."

"I used the internet and I never take anything off the internet at face value," McCoy shot back without apology.

"Good. Because if anyone were to take what's on the internet about _you_ at face value, they might draw the conclusion that you are a skirt chasing hot head that divides his time between interviews with the New York Bar's disciplinary committee and Clancy's Bar."

Henning inwardly cringed as he watched McCoy's jaw tighten while the older man's gaze remained unwavering. Feeling as if his father-in-law's eyes were boring holes that penetrated Henning's skull, after what seemed like an eternity of silence the younger man stuck the cigar he held into his mouth and focused his attention on lighting it.

McCoy's lips hinted at a smile when he noticed the younger man's hands had begun to tremble, ever so slightly.

"Nice try. That kind of crap only shuts me up when it's thrown at me by my daughter. Rebecca should have realized that when she decided to supply you with verbal ammunition. Right now, we're talking about you, not me. I'd like whatever you have to say to me to be your words, not hers. Being that you make your living as a journalist, I didn't expect that to be a problem for you."

"I'm a master of words when they are in print," Henning countered as he returned the lighter to the table beside him. "You're the master in the verbal arena. You have me at a distinct disadvantage, Jack. I'm told you could talk your way out of a paper bag if you had to."

"Henning, I didn't bring you here to trade barbs. I-"

"That wasn't a barb. It was a statement of fact," the younger man said earnestly. "I always knew when you'd been the ADA in my father's courtroom, because he'd come home and spend a half an hour reenacting some of the high points of your cross examination or your arguments in chambers. Dad only did that with you and –"

"Your father? I thought your mother and father lived in England," McCoy shot back as he tried to recall being in the chambers of a Judge named Henning.

"I thought you didn't believe everything you read on the internet," Henning said smugly; pleased he had managed to regain the upper hand in the conversation. "My mother and father divorced when I was twelve. It was a very nasty divorce. When it was over, mother took me with her to London and she remarried shortly thereafter."

"So Henning is your stepfather's name?"

"My mother's maiden name. She never took Bradley to start with and-"

"Bradley," McCoy sputtered. "Charles _Walter_ Henning? You're Walter Bradley's son?"

Henning shrugged his shoulders as he slowly let out a ring of smoke.

"Guilty as charged," he replied with a grin.

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In the lounge next door, the lone couple on the dance floor had the eyes of the other patrons glued to them as the cha-chaed like dancers on_ Dancing with the Stars. _The bald man clad in a navy sport jacket and the tall blonde in the flame red dress cut rug as if they had spent the last few weeks practicing for that night, instead spending those weeks chasing and trying criminals.

"The smell of burning flesh is coming from the smoking lounge," Cragen said to his partner. "I think Charlie's done. Isn't it time for you to go in there and take him off Jack's grill?"

"Charlie has faced leaders of the Taliban and managed to come away unscathed," Donnelly said with a grin. "I think the man can hold his own with Jack. Besides, Brooke or Becky will get antsy if it goes on too long. One of them will go in there and break it up."

"Terrorists or McCoy for a father-in-law? I don't know which scares me more," Cragen shot back as the music came to an end.

After the couple took a bow the applauses from thir fellow patrons subsided and one of the waiters brought them each a refill on their drinks compliments of the house.

"You worry too much," Donnelly responded once they had returned to their seats at a table on the other side of the room. "Maybe this will help you relax."

Cragen chuckled softly as she kissed him lightly on the lips before fishing the small plastic bottle out of her purse.

"The way things are, I can't believe you got that through customs," Cragen said as he watched the liquid in his glass go from clear to lime colored.

"They seem to go through the carry on a lot more thoroughly than the check bags, so I stuck a couple in my suitcase. I figured you'd get sick of straight _Perrier_ pretty fast. How is it?"

"Yummy," he said after taking an appraising taste. "You're too good to me, Liz. I don't know any other woman that would carry a personal stash of lime syrup, just for me."

"Not just lime,' she said proudly. "All your favorites. Raspberry, blackberry, and cherry are in my bag in our room."

"Maybe we better stop for whipped creme before we go back to the villa," Cragen said suggestively. "I bet we could make a hell of a dessert between the syrup and some whipped crème."

"Let's wait until we're staying someplace a little more private," Donnelly replied. "I don't want to have to explain syrup on the sheets or the empty whipped crème can in the trash to my daughter_ or_ Walter Bradley when I get home."

"Bradley? Judge Bradley?"

"Yeah, apparently given one, his mother's independent streak and two, the fact Walter Bradley as more enemies than friends in the New York underworld, when they had Charlie Walter agreed it would be wise for his son to take his mother's last name. "

"You mean Becky's Charlie is-"

"Yep. He's Walter's kid."

"Does Jack know?"

"I doubt it. Becky mentioned it when the three of you guys went to wash your hands before dinner. But he'll know soon enough. Maybe that will put his mind to rest about this whirl wind marriage slash motherhood situation Becky's in."

"Did it put _your_ mind to rest?"

Donnelly shot him a look as she took a long taste of her martini.

"Right now, I'm still getting used to the idea that in less than nine months I'll be answering to the name 'grandma'," Donnelly replied drily as she rolled her eyes and downed the last of her drink. "Grandma. It seems like just yesterday Becky and I were arguing about the dress she wanted wear to her junior prom. God Don, where did all the time go?"

Cragen nodded knowingly as he pulled his chair closer in order to wrap an arm around her shoulders. Much to his surprise, Cragen remembered the argument between mother and daughter. Donnelly had just become SVU bureau chief after a stint as an ADA in the Organized Crime Bureau. Cragen had come down to her office to discuss a particularly difficult case and he'd caught in the heat of debate with her daughter via the telephone.

It was long before he'd even thought about asking her out socially, but standing just outside her office watching and listening to her nail her daughter on every point she'd try to make as if the girl where a hostile witness Donnelly was determined to break on the stand, Cragen found himself mesmerized.

"I know what you mean," he said at last. "But remember Becky's your child as much as she's Jack's. She's got enough of you in her to handle whatever comes her way. As for this Grandma business, anyone that thinks Grandma's can't be gorgeous obviously hasn't met you."

"You're just saying that because I have your syrup," Donnelly said pensively.

"No, I just saying that because I see the band's back and don't want to dance alone," he said as he stood and offered her his hand. "Come on Grandma; let's show these kids how to rumba."

"Hey, only person's under two feet carrying pacifier's and Pooh Bear blankets are allowed to call me that," she said ignoreing the outstretched hand."You Captain, will have to continue to refer to me in the usual manner."

Cragen nodded slightly as he offered he is arm.

"I defer to her honor's wishes."

"The _other _customary way," she retorted as she gave him her most intimidating stare.

"What ever you say," he said softly as she reached for his arm. "Enchantress of my Dreams."


	15. Chapter 15

When McCoy and Henning left the smoking room an hour later they found what remained of their party in the lounge next door. Becky had found her mother and was now on the dance floor with Don Cragen. After the drink order was taken, Henning excused himself and McCoy continued to uneasily scan the room.

"She's not here Jack," Donnelly said with a sigh.

McCoy raised an eyebrow and waited for her to continue.

"Brooke and Becky were still at the table talking when I sent Don to invite them to join us," she explained as the waiter returned with another round. "Brooke told Don she was ready to call it a night and ask him to tell you not to rush back to villa; to stay and enjoy yourself."

"How long ago was this," he asked as he reached for his wallet.

"About ninety minutes ago," she said as she glanced at her wrist watch. "Jack, Don said she seemed fine. Maybe she just –"

"Brooke does a good job of 'seeming' fine," he said flatly as he stood.

"Well at least tell me what you got out of Charlie before you go dashing off, so I know where to continue the interrogation."

McCoy gave her a sly smile and leaned towards her ear.

"Why didn't you tell me he's Bradley's boy?"

"No time. I just found out tonight, honest. I have to admit, that makes things a little bit easier to take. Walter is one of the most ethical men I know. I can't image son being much different."

"True and it makes the possibility of Becky coming home even more likely. Charlie said as far as he's concerned, the decisions already been made. Becky's the one dragging her feet about a move to Manhattan," he said shrewdly. "Something about not wanting Henning to feel like he's a bug under a microscope."

"As in being examined by her parents twenty-four seven? I'll be subtle," she said with a grin before he turned and moved towards the exit.

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After returning to the villa and finding a vague note on the bed stating his wife felt restless and had decided to go out for a walk, McCoy tried Brooke's cell phone, which went right to voice mail. It wasn't until he sat down on the edge of the bed, frustrated and muttering words to that effect under his breath, that he noticed the outfit his wife had worn to dinner had been discarded and left on the chair beside the dresser. He glanced at the discarded heels and dress beofre he stood.

Once he had checked Brooke's side of the closet, McCoy paused only to exchange his suit and tie for jeans, a tee shirt, and his ever faithful green jacket, before he left the villa.

When he found her, she was sitting on one of the benches on the deserted pier. Her back was to him and she had her phone to her ear while her free hand rested on the half empty bottle beside her.

McCoy silently swore and immediately chastised himself for leaving her on her own for so long. He knew from experience, Brooke would silently count her drinks and keep well within the line of sobriety when she was around others; especially if she was with his daughter. He also knew if he was with her, she usually was so concerned with keeping him from going off the deep end that she'd slow her own drinking, as well.

As he came up behind her he felt his lips turn up in a smile of relief as he heard her say, "…well, if our idiot boss hadn't put me on leave, the gun never would have been suppressed."

McCoy could hear Jake Cohen's laughter as he slipped beside Brooke on the bench.

"Oh stop laughing. You know it's true. All I've ever had to do was show Judge Pearson a little leg when I cite_ Bendix v U.S. _and whatever I want in is in,_" _She continued, completely unaware of the man beside her. After taking another pull of the bottle, she laughed as well, before her tone took a somber turn. "_That _is an incredibly vulgar thing to say and not at all what I meant…Listen Jake, this is what you do; you go back to Pearson with Taz and let her present the motion-…yes, I know Pearson will expect something new ... Just add some other legal mumbo jumbo so it looks like a new motion – you know what I mean- you've seen me do it like a _zillion_ times and let Taz present it to Pearson... Taz knows what to do, trust me… Yes, I know you're the lead prosecutor... Why can't _you_ do it? God Jake, do I have to draw you a picture?...Yes, I know it's pandering, but do you want the gun in or not?"

Brooke jumped off the bench and about ten feet back as McCoy attempted to slip his arm around her shoulder. As he mouthed an apology, he found he was laughing so hard tears were forming, due to the stunned expression on his wife's face.

After making a hurried explanation to Cohen, Brooke snapped her phone shut and looked down at the near empty bottle that lay at her husband's feet.

"How long have you been lurking," she asked primly, as she watched the last of the bottles contents spill onto the deck.

"Long enough to know more than I want to about what goes on in Judge Pearson's chambers," he said with a wolfish grin.

"As if you've _never_ used your charisma on Deborah Bourne or Lena Petrovsky to get your way," she countered as she watched him pick up the now empty bottle. "I hope you noticed I didn't go lunging for the damn thing like a skid row regular hoping to save the last drop."

"I noticed it was half empty before it spilled," he said quietly after setting in under the bench. "I'm sorry I left you at the restaurant to deal with Becky and Liz on your own."

"God Jack, I wish you'd knock it off. If you can deal with my ex-husband every time you turn around, I certainly can manage a dinner with Liz Donnelly," she shot back before she walked away and started further down the pier.

"Maybe you can manage dinner, but you sure as hell can't manage to walk a straight line right now," he called as he watched her weave down the pier.

"The hell I can't," she snapped as she whirled around, only to lose her balance and grab the railing to steady herself. "Damn it. This is exactly why I wanted you to stay at the villa. Just because I had a few drinks doesn't mean I need to be handled."

"Brooke, I'm your husband. I'm not trying to handle you, I'm trying to help you," he said impatiently as he followed her to the end of the pier.

"You know Jack, one of the reasons I married you is because you usually treat me like an adult," she said as she looked across the pier at the water in front of them. "We make decisions together. You don't make a habit of smothering me with unnecessary protection. Don't screw that up now."

McCoy nodded at the unspoken reference to her former husband. He knew how deep her love had run for Sam Prescott, not only by the affection that had remained between them, but by the more recent vengeance his wife felt towards the man. It almost pained him more to see how livid Prescott could still make her. Her recent attitude had reminded McCoy of a remark he'd made to Claire Kincaid years before after dealing with a divorced couple during a murder trial.

Kincaid had commented on how hard it was to image the two ever being in love. McCoy and then DA Adam Schiff, had exchanged knowing looks before McCoy responded.

"_Oh I image they were in love…passionately," he quipped. When Kincaid gave him a quizzical looked, he continued. "Where do you think all the hate comes from?"_

The look of utter contempt on Brooke's face told McCoy he'd been right all those years before and he was right now. Hatred was just another form of passion for someone who had once been at the center of your heart.

"We're also honest with each other," he said as his eyes followed her gaze. "I can't just sit back anymore and watch you drown."

"Spare me Jack. How many drinks did you have yourself tonight," she countered when she finally turned to face him and continued, not bothering to wait for a reply. "Listen, I just wanted to unwind a bit. Maybe buying a bottle was overkill, but I was relaxed…you heard me with Jake…I felt good until you decided to come down here and mess with my aura."

"Your_ what_?"

"My aura," she said as she smiled mischievously as she ran her fingers over her husband's troubled face. "I admit it. I'm buzzed and you know what Jack? It feels _good_, as you know from personal experience."

McCoy sighed as he wrapped an arm around her and continued to look out at the waves. He knew she was right. He knew the last few months between a variety stressors at the office and losing the baby, excessive drinking had become part of his own routine. He knew the signs well enough from his childhood. Neither of them had done much to curtail their drinking, other than to keep the others knowledge of it to a minimum.

Although he didn't see either of them as bonafied candidates for AA, but he knew if something didn't change and fast, a twelve step program wouldn't be out of the question.

"You 'mess with _my_ aura' whenever I see you like this," he said quietly as he slipped his jacket over her shoulders that had begun to tremble. "It's killing me to see you so unhappy. Unhappy because of a decision I pushed you into."

"It was a decision you were never supposed to have to make," she said with equal tenderness and she turned his face towards hers. "It's killing me that you were put in the position of having to make it in the first place."

"You've said that before. I didn't understand it then, I don't understand it now."

"Jack, don't you think I knew what you'd say if I told you I could die if I had the baby," she replied with a weak smile. "Sure, I told Jake you'd never even consider an abortion…Catholic upbringing and all…but that was just me blowing smoke so he wouldn't go running to you about the risks of the pregnancy. I know how you felt about the church when we got married. I had a pretty good idea of what you'd say if I told you what could happen."

"Can you honestly say you wouldn't have felt the same way if the positions were reversed?"

Brooke brushed the windblown strands out of his eyes and pondered her response. She knew there was nothing she wouldn't do to keep her husband safe and sound; to keep him with her for as long as she could no matter what the cost.

"I didn't say you were wrong. I just wasn't willing to put myself before our child. It was worth the risk to be able to keep a part of you with me if I made it through the pregnancy."

"God there was just no way to win, was there," he asked hoarsely as he turned away and brought a hand to his eyes."I could either let you die or force you to be miserable-"

"Jack, I'm fine. I'm here. I have you. In a few months they'll be a new part of you in the world in a grandchild," she said urgently and she wrapped her arms around him. "It's selfish of me to dwell – "

"Damn it you're not fine. Neither am I," McCoy whispered as he turned back to her and pulled her to him. "Remember what you said the other night? About Florida? About how happy we were? You asked me if I thought we could be that happy again."

"I remember."

"I think we have an opportunity to find that kind of happiness again while we're here. But I think we need to do it on our own."

Brooke shook her head as she looked up at him curiously.

"It would be selfish to take you away from Becky now. She doesn't get nearly enough time with either you or Liz and with the baby-"

"There will be plenty of time to see Becky when she moves back to Manhattan."

Brooke listened with growing pleasure as McCoy revealed what he had uncovered in his talk with Charlie Henning.

"So all you and Liz have to do to get her home is postpone further grilling until they unpack in Manhattan? That should be easy," she said with a chuckle. "Especially since you can get the goods on the guy from Walter the next time you two play darts."

"You know, I knew he had a son. I even knew the boy's name was Charlie and that he wrote for the _Times_ at one point. I just hadn't put it together. Stop worrying about being selfish and start thinking about what you'd like to the next four days. We can go back to Paris or take a train to Monte Carlo or-"McCoy grimaced as his own cell phone began to ring.

"Better get that. It could be Becky wondering where we wandered off to," Brooke said as she glanced at her watch. "It is after two."

With a heavy sigh McCoy pulled the thin black device from his pants pocket. In his hurry to avoid missing the call he neglected to check the incoming number and found himself stunned when he heard the voice on the other end of the call. "_Anita?"_

Brooke hugged herself and wrapped McCoy's jacket tightly around her as the breeze from the sea became more intense. She listened carefully to the series of responses that seemed more and more surprised, until her husband finally agreed to make some calls and urged the Lieutenant to keep him 'posted on any further developments'.

"Bad news?"

"Incredible news," he sputtered as he sat down on a nearby bench. "Internal Affairs is investigating Ed Green."

"What? The Ed Green from the two seven? The Ed Green that worked on the Hawthorne case, as well as that whole mess when Jake got shot few years ago?"

"The same Ed Green that apparently had a gambling problem and shot one of his former bookies last night."

Brooke's jaw dropped as she thought about the detective that had been so reassuring, so savvy in his judgment the last time she'd had dealt with him.

"I can see you're as floored as I am."

"So much for romantic getaways and vacations," Brooke said more to herself than her husband.

"Anita had no idea I was out of town. I told her I'd talk to Mike –"

"Jack, you need to be there. We need to go home."

McCoy shook her head. As much as his instincts told him the charges against Green had to be unfounded, McCoy had seen too many friends, co-workers... even a lover... through the years succumb to acts he had never thought possible. Although Ed Green had always seemed above reproach, McCoy knew the worst thing he could do was go back to Manhattan and interfere in the investigation.

He also knew the worst thing he could do for his wife was to use Green's bad luck as yet another excuse to put off dealing with their personal issues.

"Maybe if the charges are presented to the Grand Jury, but not before," he said firmly. "When the choice is your well being or Ed Green's, there is no choice."

"I don't need to be babysat," she retorted before unsuccessfully trying to stifle a yawn. "You know you want to oversee this yourself, no matter how much you trust Mike and Connie."

"The only thing I want to oversee right now is getting you into bed," he shot back as he studied the eyes that were fighting to stay open. "We better start back. I'm not sure if I have enough juice left to carry all the way back to the villa."

Much to his relief Brooke nodded in agreement as he stood and offered her his hand.


	16. Chapter 16

Mike Cutter offered Connie Rubirosa his hand as the young ADA stood to begin to descend from the bleachers. Cutter had all but given up on his assistant following through on her promise to watch him play baseball in Grammercy Park that afternoon when the fifth inning began and there was still no sign of the dark haired beauty.

Cutter shrugged off a pang on sadness and chalked up her absence to an understandable desire sleep instead of play after given the time thier evening had ended. It wasn't until Casey Novak came sailing past third base that he realized Rubirosa had kept her word after all.

"Hey, Cutter looks like you've been recruiting again," Novak shouted with a grin as she increased her speed while jerking her head towards the bleachers.

Following her gaze, Cutter found himself at once elated and concerned; elated to see he might still have a chance with Rubriosa and concerned as he noted the frown that she wore.

"Sorry I'm late Mike. I was just going out the door when I got a call from Anita Van Buren," Rubirosa explained as the pair walked past the other players towards the Brooklyn Bridge.

"Van Buren," Cutter repeated as the pair returned waves and greetings until they were well away from the crowd. "It's not your weekend to catch cases, it's-"

"This one is special," she said as she let him lead her down the block.

As she relied Ed Green's dilemma, Cutter shook his head in disbelief. Although he'd only worked with Green a short time Cutter had warmed to the senior homicide detective quickly.

"Have you called Jack?"

"In Paris? Are you kidding," Rubriosa retorted as she found herself walking down a street lined with row houses that were all painted brightly, many of which contained planters and flower boxes on their window sills. "Mike, where are we headed?"

"My place. I need to shower before we talk about lunch," he explained as he paused in front of a particularly well maintained brownstone located at the center of the block, while he glanced at his watch and smiled. "Or maybe it's dinner we should talk about. I didn't realize how late it was getting. Maybe this would be a good night to try that cioppino I told you about, if you think you're up for it?"

Rubirosa looked down at her tank top and Bermuda shorts.

"I'm not sure I'm dressed-"

"You look great. Besides, the place isn't _Twenty One_ Connie," he said with a grin as they continued up the steps and he reached for his key ring. "Food's great but the place is very causal. It makes your cousin's restaurant look like upscale. Think about it while you're telling me about Green."

As she followed Cutter through the lobby and up the stairs, Rubirosa fund herself admiring the art deco architecture that was accented with bright colors and fixtures that appeared to be original to the building. When Cutter opened the door to his modest two bedroom apartment, she found the theme continued with the double doors that led to a small balcony and a fireplace with an elaborate jade stone mantel that held framed pictures of Cutter and various baseball teams he'd played on since high school and a few photos that appeared to be of the EADA and family members that incldued on with a younger Cutter dressed in formal attore beside a striking blonde clad in military formal dress attire.

"Great place," Rubirosa said as Cutter walked into the adjoining kitchen.

"Thanks. Still unpacking. Figured with the promotion it was time to atop putting off a move uptown. I can offeer you a soda or -" he asked through the pass through.

"I'm good. I only saw the last two innings, but I was there when you made your last home run. I didn't know you could run so fast. I'm impressed, Mike."

Cutter grinned after he finished the small bottle of _Gatorade_.

"That was exactly what I had in mind when I asked you to come," he said smugly as he headed towards the hallway. "Have a seat on the balcony. It's nice out there. I'll be out in a few minutes."

Rubirosa took another glance around the small sitting room. Fireplace on one side, small bookcase and computer desk on the other. The bookcase contained more disks and CD's than actual books, which came as no surprise to the ADA. After taking another look at the pictures on the mantel, Rubirosa opened the double doors and found a small but comfortable bistro table and chairs that had been decorated with bright mosaic tile, as well as an assortment of potted plants and shrubs that lined the balcony's iron rod border.

As she looked across the balcony at the view of the sun setting on the New York skyline, Rubirosa thought about how young and vital her boss looked in his blue striped jersey and matching shorts. It was a far cry from the trendy shirts and ties she was used to seeing him in at the office. His hair damp and his face flushed, Cutter looked more like a college athlete than a savvy Manhattan prosecutor.

When she'd accepted his invitation to watch him play, Rubirosa assumed he was playing with friends or maybe in a league. Upon she arriving at the park, she felt a sudden pang of nervousness once she realized one team was made up of members of the Manhattan and Bronx DA's offices attornies from mjor felonies' the otherside made up of ADA's from the same offices sex crimes bureau's.

She knew it was silly… almost Victorian… to be so concerned with the opinions of others. Especially when many of those others had greater skeletons in their closets than dancing and watching their boss play in an afternoon of baseball. Rubirosa knew there were a lot of things that made her who she was that seemed out of date and prudish. Normally she felt what she felt and didn't much care what anyone had to say about it, but this time it was different.

This time she found herself wondering how long she could walk the thin line between her moral code and her desire to have the man she was overwhelmingly attracted to in her life.

Had it been anyone else, she knew there was no way she would have gone up to a man's apartment. It wouldn't have been the first time she had opted to wait in the lobby, thus putting the kybosh on any plans to try to woo her. But given the fact Cutter had been more than a gentleman the night he vistied her apartment, it seemed silly to do anything other than come up with him.

"Well, I'm ready," he said as he joined her. "What do you say? Are you ready to try the best cioppino on the east coast?"

A half an hour later the pair where sitting at an outside table watching the lights of the Brooklyn bridge flicker as they drank wine while they waited for their meal.

"Let's get the shop talk out of the way first," Cutter said as he offered her a piece of garlic bread. "You said Van Buren called you about Green. You haven't spoken to Jack for obvious reasons, but I still think he'd want to know about this."

"If _you_ want to call him while he's in Paris with his wife trying to have an overdue honeymoon be my guest."

"I thought he went there to meet his daughter's new husband."

"Oh Mike," she said as she rolled her eyes. "That's how the trip came about, but given everything those two have been though, I'm sure a man like Jack will seize the opportunity to-"

"Back up," Cutter said with amusement. "'A man like Jack'?"

"You know what I mean," she said as she felt her face brighten. "Jack knows enough about woman and romance to get three women to say 'I do'. I have no doubt he knows how to arrange something for Brooke once they take care of their family obligations."

"Point taken. But my point is, if he comes back and finds out we didn't tell him, don't you think he's going to be irate? Especially if this gets passed a grand jury and Green ends up being indicted?"

"All right. Let's just let him get through the weekend. It's Saturday night. It's not like anyone is going to convene a grand jury tomorrow. Besides, Ed Green is like family in major felonies. No way does this go anywhere." Cutter gave his assistant a sharp look and started to say something he immediately thought better of. "What?"

"Nothing that can't keep until Monday," he said as he reached for the bottle of merlot. "We're both off the clock right now. Let's just leave the shop talk at 'I hope you're right' and discuss something less volatile, like what you think of the wine?"

"The wine is fine," she said impatiently as she thought about turning the conversation back to the matter at hand.

Rubirosa liked Ed Green since the first case they had worked on together. The idea he could be involved in something unsavory, much less illegal, wasn't' an idea she was anywhere near ready to accept. Part of her wanted to express that feeling in no uncertain terms to her boss; to convince to see Green the way she did.

As if reading her thoughts, Cutter gave her a reassuring smile as he filled her glass.

"Look Connie, I'm not taking sides here. I really hope things work out for the man, but right now I want to spend as much time as I can getting to know you. I realize last night happened by chance. Tonight is by choice. A choice I know you're still not entirely comfortable with and a choice you may not make at all again. Can you blame me for wanting to enjoy every minute of it?"

Rubirosa lowered her eyes as she began to toy with the napkin on her lap.

"I know I must seem ridiculous given what goes on in the office-"

"If I thought you were ridiculous I won't be here. Connie, a lot of women want to keep business and pleasure separate. I respect that. I just…Now I'm going to sound ridiculous to you," he said as he paused to take a swallow of wine. "I just enjoy your company too much to leave things alone."

"Mike, I don't want to give you the wrong impression," she said as she looked back up and met his gaze. "I never expected to feel so comfortable… it took me almost a year to get used to Jack and Arthur. When Jack took the DA spot I was a nervous wreck wondering who he'd pair me up with next."

"You had to know Jack would try to put you with someone you could not only learn from, but someone who would respect you for the lawyer you are."

Rubirosa nodded as the waiter returned with their order.

"You have no idea how nasty some of those old farts down the hall can be," she said after the waiter had gone. "When I found out it was you, I did do some checking. Once you came upstairs I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. You seemed too good to be true."

Cutter laughed out loud and his face showed a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure at the unexpected compliment.

"You think that after that mess with the infamous 'Juror Number Eight'."

"I was less than thrilled with you," she said with a chuckle. "But I don't think it's a mistake you plan on making again?"

"Never," he said with mock humbleness as he leaned back in his chair. "Not only will you have my hid, but McCoy will kick my ass personally. Seems he did a one eighty after dinner with Shambala Green, Danielle Melnick, and the current Mrs. McCoy. He filled me in the next day and we both realized the risk we put you in. I was an idiot and I'm sorry Connie."

Rubirosa smiled at the sudden sincerity in his voice and at the expression that made him look like a little boy who knew he'd done wrong. Nodding slightly she picked up her utensils and started to eat.


	17. Chapter 17

By the time they entered her apartment Connie Rubirosa was in a panic.

"I'll be right back. I want to get this in water before the stain sets," she said over her shoulder as she disappeared into the bathroom. "There's some of the wine from last night in the fridge."

"Take your time," Cutter said as he grabbed the two wine glasses from the drain board and moved towards the refrigerator.

The after dinner activities he'd had in mind had been pushed aside when, in an attempt to remove the shell of a particularly large piece of crab, Rubirosa had managed to spray herself with much of the red sauce that had been in her bowl. The large red blotches on her shorts and top made an immediate departure imperative.

Cutter smiled to himself when he thought of the looks of shock, annoyance, and finally mortification that flash across his colleagues face once the ADA realized what she'd.

Cutter glanced at the clock and debated whether it was too late to start a fire in the small fireplace in front of the sofa. Although it was only nine thirty, given the fact neither of them had made it to bed until after four that morning, Cutter didn't want to run the risk of over staying his welcome. He smiled at the obvious alternative; an assortment of candles on the mantel and coffee table. Cutter scanned the room for a book of matches.

When Rubirosa returned she was clad in a pair of jeans and a pull over Cutter had seen in wear to work. She smiled uncertainly at the candlelight and jazz playing while Cutter handed her a glass of wine.

"It's not what it looks like honest," he said with an impish smile as he led her to the sofa." I really liked this CD last night and I didn't think you'd mind if I-"

"And the candles," she asked skeptically as they sat on the sofa.

"Easier to put out than the fire when you're ready for bed," he said smugly and then turned a shade of pink as he immediately realized the implication behind this words. "I meant when you send me home, before you –"

"I get it Mike," she said with a chuckle as she sipped at her wine.

"How's the shirt? Were you able to salvage it or the shorts," he asked as he anxiously tried to change the subject.

"Jury's still out."

"It's built in danger when you order the cioppino. I can't tell you how many shirts I've thrown out after a meal at that place, but it's worth it every time."

"Agreed. The red sauce was amazing, at least the couple of spoon fulls that I didn't end up wearing," she said as they pair launched into a dialogue of small talk that covered favorite foods, plays, sports teams, and bits and pieces of family lore along the way.

After finishing the last of the wine, Cutter glanced at the candles, many of which were on the verge of using up their wicks and shrugged.

"I think we did it again, Connie. I'm afraid look at a clock. I suppose I should be on my way?"

Rubirosa felt the same twinge of regret she'd felt the last time she had to send the man home.

"I suppose you should get more than four hours sleep tonight,"she said reluctantly as she started to get up.

"May I before I go," he asked as he took her hands in his and gently kissed each one. "I can't remember the last woman that kept me talking about something other than the law this long. You're an amazing woman Connie."

Rubirosa leaned back against the sofa as Cutter's lips moved from her hands to her lips. She felt her arms go around his neck as her body instinctively pressed against his. As his mouth pressed against hers, she felt her lips part as she heard herself moan.

Rubirosa had heard more than one person make the blunt comment that Mike Cutter was no Jack McCoy. It was a comment that at once annoyed and intrigued her. As he continued to kiss her while their hands tentively explored each other's bodies, she fleetingly found herself pondering that statement one more time.

While it was obvious Cutter's trademarks weren't roguish charm highlighted by the melancholy the Irish had been noted for over the years, Mike Cutter clearly knew how to make a woman feel desireable. He also seemed to know his way around a line or two.

"Mike-"

"Connie," he whispered as he met her inquiring gaze with a lazy smile before reaching for her once more.

Rubirosa being an attractive, healthy woman had experienced her share of similar encounters in her thirty years in the world. Most of those encounters had fallen between her senior year of high school and her first year of law school. Once she'd started her quest to pass the bar exam, she'd promised herself she wouldn't let anything distract her from her goal the way she'd seen too many of her friends become distracted.

Once she obtained that goal, she became more selective about who she saw and how far she let things go. After starting her work in major felonies, she found herself either too absorbed with her work or overwhelmed by the demands the unrelenting Jack McCoy made on her time, that a date for more than a quick mocha or lunch became nearly nonexistent.

As Cutter's hands slipped under her sweater, she realized how long it had been since she'd been touched in a manner even resembling intimacy. She also realized that despite his boyish obsession with all things technological, Mike Cutter was anything but a boy.

Rubirosa could feel her body respond to the skillful hands that caressed her breasts. Everything felt so good, so right, she found herself anxious to let his hands travel wherever they chose. As Cutter carefully lowered her into to laying position she could feel the bulge between his legs.

Part of her found the sensation exciting and more than a little pleasing; it pleased her to know the effect she was having on a man she knew was far more worldly than he liked to let on.

"God Connie, you set me on fire," he whispered as he lifted the sweater to allow his lips to do what his hands had been doing.

"You know this is about as far as this is going to go," she panted.

"I know this will only go as far as you _want_ it to go," he murmured with amusement.

Rubiorosa knew by his tone Cutter thought she was issuing a challenge…toying with his male ego…daring him to excite her enough to be invited to go further. The last thing she wanted was to have Cutter accuse her of being a tease and deliberately leading him on.

"Okay Mike, let's take a breath and relax a minute," she said as she pushed against his chest in order to return to an upright position while Cutter gazed at her with a playful smile.

"I hope you're not going to give me the 'I really like you, but not like that' speech," he said with a grin.

"How about the 'I really like you, but I plan to remain a virgin until my wedding night' speech? How does that suit you Mike?"


	18. Chapter 18

"Be honest," Jack McCoy said anxiously as he looked expectantly at his wife. "How does that suit you?"

"Sailing? You want to take the sailboat Charlie's parents have in the marina and sail to Monte Carlo," she said with utter disbelief. "Hum Jack, have you forgotten the fun we had last time we went sailing?"Brooke could feel a shudder run though her as she thought about the bouts of nausea she'd suffered on her first sailing trip with her husband."I doubt your daughter's new in-laws would appreciate me barfing all over their zillion dollar boat."

"No problem," he said as he triumphantly reached into his pocket and handed her a small packet. "This time we'll have a month's worth of sea sick pills on board. You'll have a completely different experience, being as you'll actually be up on deck more than 30 seconds at a time."

"Wise ass," she said with sigh as she snatched the pills and scanned the directions. "What about Becky and the others?"

McCoy grinned at her as he finished closing the snaps on his suit case.

"After you fell asleep last night, I heard someone in the hall way. As luck would have it, Charlie was getting Becky a midnight – well early morning – snack. Long story short, they're fine with it. When I told them I wanted to do something that would keep you to myself for a few days, it was Charlie that suggested the boat," he said excitedly. "She'd already told him how much I enjoy sailing. Apparently the boat is in dire need of being run so…?"

Brooke leaned against the dresser and surveyed her husband. She couldn't remember seeing such excitement in his eyes since he'd talked about buying a puppy for the baby.

"When we get to Monte Carlo, not only will you bank roll me at the twenty one table," she said in the tone she reserved for cutting deal with particularly difficult defense attorneys', "You will also sit in silence if and when I chose to drink; whether it's one drink or a hundred and one. Are we clear?"

"If you still want to drink like a fish when we get there, I will keep them coming until you pass out," he said smugly as he reached for her bag. "While I take these down, why don't you head out to the pool. Don stuck around to divide up the sea glass you two collected the other day. Everyone else is down at the beach."

Brooke gave him a puzzled stare that McCoy chose to ignore as he swiftly strode out of the room.

After attempting to hide any trace of her hang over via careful application of concealer and other miricle workers found in her make up bag, Brooke made her way to the pool where Don Cragen sat at one of the patio tables. Brooke smiled at the two plates that were filled with French toast and bacon beside glasses of orange juice.

"Jack didn't tell me you were buying me breakfast," she remarked as she took the seat opposite Cragen.

"Jack didn't seem to think you'd feel up to breakfast," the captain said nonchalantly as he handed her a fork. "But I was curious."

Brooke raised an eyebrow and waited for an explanation that didn't come. Instead Cragen reached over a poured a generous portion of syrup on the toast that was sprinkled with powdered sugar; the sight of which made Brooke's stomach lurch.

"Dig in," Cragen said with a hint of force.

"Hum. No coffee?"

"Coffee will just dehydrate you more," he said quietly as he reached for his glass. "It's a real misnomer this idea that coffee the morning after will clear your head. It's just another kind of buzz. Nothing more."

Brooke dropped her fork in disgust and tossed her napkin on the table.

"Damn Jack," she miuttered under her breath as she started to pull her chair back.

"Jack doesn't know a thing about why I wanted to see you and for the record, I didn't need Jack to tell me you could use a friend right now," Cragen said in a tone that echoed the compassion he was known for by members of his squad.

Brooke lowered the eyes that glared with resentment at Cragen and pushed her chair back in.

"You said you were curious?"

"About how much of that you would try to get down. Keeping up appearances is almost as much work sober as it is toasted," he said solemnly.

"Thanks for the insight Don," she sneered as she pushed her plate to the side and downed her glass of juice. "I can see why you're so good at what you do. Mind like a steel trap."

"Hey we both know it doesn't take a genius to spot a hangover…or a cry for help."

"Now I really_ do_ feel like barfing," Brooke sarcastically retorted.

Cragen chuckled good naturedly as he finished a piece of bacon.

"I used to feel that way. Especially after I lost my wife. Before Marge died, I'd over indulge occasionally after a rough case if she was going to be gone for the night. Once she was, gone there was no reason to not to let loose."

Brooke shifted uneasily in her chair. McCoy had mentioned the untimely death of Cragen's wife. An event that had occured on a routine flight not long after the twin towers incident. While part of her was more than ready to cut Cragen's attempted intervention short, she also felt moved that he would even consider sharing something so intimate and painful with someone who was little more than a stranger.

"It must have been a difficult time for you," she said softly while she toyed with the button holding her right cuff in place.

"You know how it is. You went down that road yourself, remember," he asked with enough kindness to cause her to meet his gaze. "Hurts like hell when you've lost someone you love, doesn't it Brooke?"

"I was lucky. Not only did Sam turn out to be alive, I also found Jack."

"Yes. You were lucky. I have to admit, I'd do just about anything to have a repeat of that miracle your Ex pulled off. But finding Liz…especially when she'd been right under my nose for so many years… that was a miracle in itself."

"From what I saw at dinner last night, I'd say Liz feels the same way."

"It's different for them though – Jack and Liz – I mean," he said knowingly as he held her gaze. "I knew them when they divorced and it was obvious how much pain they were in. But, those two have managed to find common ground with Becky. For us, managing the pain becomes almost a job in itself sometimes."

"Sorry to mess up your analogy Don, but now that I know Sam is alive and well, that pain in my heart has made a swift turn south," she added bluntly.

Cragen shook his head as he sighed. Thoughtfully, he picked up a slice of bacon from her plate and waited for her to take it.

"Your ex-husband wasn't the someone I was talking about, Brooke. When I said it hurt like hell when you've lost someone you love, I was talking about your child. The child you and Jack were expecting."

Brooke stared at the bacon she held with disbelief. It wasn't that it surprised her to learn Cragen was aware of the abortion; it made sense that Becky would confide in her mother and in turn, Liz Donnelly would confide in the man her in life. What stunned Brooke was that someone who barely knew her seemed to be able to so easily see into her soul.

"That's what the drinking is really about, isn't it Brooke," he continued quietly. "It's not about enjoying the feeling you get from being buzzed or the taste of good liquor. It's about numbing that ache that that seems spread a little bit more every day."

"Jack's hurting too," she said hoarsely as her eyes began to moisten.

"I'm sure he is, but he has Becky. Not that that would lessen his feelings for a child he had with you, but it makes it different. Jack has Becky and I know Jack well enough to know he'd deal with his loss by trying to lessen yours," he said as he took the bacon from her and squeezed her hand."But it doesn't work that way, does it Brooke?"

Brooke bit her lip as she tried unsuccessfully to will her tears back to where they came from. As a single drop rolled down her cheek she placed her other hand on top of Cragen's.

"I wanted so much to hold it together for him Don…to help Jack get through this…but some days, the pain weighs me down so much that if I didn't have the liquor to make it bearable, I'd swear I'd lose what's left of my mind."

"You can't help Jack until to help yourself," Cragen said gently as he reached into his pocket. "You can't help yourself until you accept that there are things you just don't have the power to change."


	19. Chapter 19

Jack McCoy checked the ropes that served to keep the sails in place as he impatiently checked his watch once more. He knew there was more to Don Cragen's curious request to have a few minutes alone with Brooke before she and McCoy took off for Monte Carlo than the SVU commander had let on. Although he had a pretty good idea what Cragen was up to, McCoy doubted Brooke would give the well meaning captain more than a few minutes to state his case and then politely dismiss his concerns.

McCoy debated whether or not to call his wife's cell phone or just go back to the villa. As anxious as he was to play with the shiny new toy his son in-law had arranged for him to borrow, McCoy had no desire to interfere with any break through Cragen may have made in getting Brooke to open up.

"I figured you would still be waiting. I thought you might be ready for something to tide you over since you didn't get breakfast."

McCoy swung around to find an attractive blonde in shorts, tee shirt, and wind breaker with an arm load of take out bags in hand. He immediately dashed to meet her and lighten the load as Liz Donnelly carefully made her way down the deck.

"Have you heard from Cragen," he asked a he peeked in one of the brown papers bags and chuckled. "Did you remember or was it Becky that sent the cheese danish?"

"Becky, but not because I forgot. Becky threw the danish in after I ordered you a café au lait and eggs Benedict. There's a second order for when Brooke gets here."

"Keep this up and you'll lose that reputation of yours for ebing heartless."

"What happens in France stays in France," Donnelly countered with a smirk as she followed McCoy below and into the galley. "As for Don, you probably know more than I do. All he told me was he wanted to talk to your wife about that sea glass they collected, to which I told _him_ if that was the best story he could come up with, he'd better not even think about another woman. With a lame story like that, I'd see through him before he even got a cab to take him to the hotel."

"I suspect Cragen's wise enough to know what a lost cause it is to try to get anything of real consequence by you," he said as he reached for a plate. "You never did tell me how serious things are between you two, although you bringing him with you to another continent to meet our daughter's new husband speaks volumes."

Donnelly waved aside his offer of a plate and mug and shrugged her graceful shoulders.

"These days I focus on today, Jack. I let tomorrow take care of itself."

"In other words I should butt out," he asked the amusement.

"In other words, I'm content with things as they are, at least for now," she countered as the moved to the small table by a porthole that overlooked the water. "What about you, Jack? It's been a couple of rough months for the both of you. Rough personally as well as professionally. You haven't been DA even a year and you've had that close call with the Manning case, not to mention that pissing contest with that idiot Josh Lethem…"

"Close calls come with the job, you know that Liz. As for Lethem," he said with cockiness that made Donnelly's trademark smirk deepen. "I've dealt with his kind before."

"Excuse me Rambo, but you 'dealt' with the Lethem's of the world when Adam or Arthur had your back. It's different when you're the one that's got to face the voters."

"Yeah, 'different' is the word," he said under his breath before he made sounds of approval as he savored the eggs and coffee. "Why does breakfast taste especially wonderful when it made by someone else _and_ it comes from a four star restaurant? This is basically eggs and coffee but right now it tastes like the most indulgent meal I've had in ages."

"That's because it almost noon and your stomach is about to rebel against no breakfast and scotch for dessert last night," Donnelly said shrewdly. "That's not a judgment Jack, just a statement of fact. In fact, I was pleased to see it was only dessert last night. After I miscarried, scotch was your breakfast, lunch, and dinner for awhile."

McCoy gave her a sideways glanced as he momentarily looked up from his eggs.

"It wasn't an easy time for either of us. I could have done better. I wish I had."

"Jack, I didn't mean… I told you it wasn't a judgment. I just meant, Brooke isn't the only one hurting. Anyone that knows you knows better than to tell you not to blame yourself. I just hope you don't let your knee jerk martyrdom create a gap between you and your current wife."

"Are you implying it did with us," he shot back with more than a little annoyance.

"I'm not_ implying_ anything," Donnelly retorted without apology."Of course it did with us. We were both work alcoholics, Jack. Add the liquor on your part and the silence on my part and well, here we are."

McCoy audibly before finishing the last of the coffee. Although Donnelly's unexpected sustenance had settled his stomach her unexpected journey into the past had unsettled his mind.

The events leading to his first divorce were events McCoy rarely spoke of. In his mind it was a time best forgotten and a subject he didn't relish rehashing with anyone, especially his first wife.

"It could have been worse, at least our divorce wasn't quite as nasty as the Newman divorce," he quipped in an unsuccessful attempt to lighten the mood. "At least neither of us decided to hack the other into pieces."

"It's much more fun to keep you alive so I can watch you squirm as much as I do when Becky pulls one of her little surprises," Donnelly said with a chuckle. "This elopement business wouldn't have been nearly so easy to stomach if you weren't here to do some of the dirty work, like interrogating our unfortunate son in-law. No, our troubles seem pretty mild if you compare them to some of the couples either of us have dealt with on the job. I'm just saying, don't fall back into old patterns Jack. You seem happy with Brooke. Happier than I've seen you since before Claire died. Losing a child can destroy even the strongest of marriages. Neither of us let the other help the us through that loss. It made the gap between us even wider than it was."

"You know there were other factors besides the miscarriage," he added quietly as he stood and turned towards the sink. "Factors I really don't want to discuss right now-"

"Neither do I. But the fact remains, burying yourself in work or drowning yourself in scotch come as easily to you as breathing does, Jack. Not that anyone could blame you after everything you two have been through. I'm just saying, you seem to have something good in your life. Don't screw it up. At our age, you usually don't get another chance."

McCoy met Donnelly's compassionate stare and slowly nodded as he began to reply. Before the words were out of his mouth he heard Brooke call his name.


	20. Chapter 20

"Hey Connie, what does your afternoon look like?"

Rubirosa impatiently looked up from the case file she'd been reviewing to find EADA Michael Cutter leaning on her door frame.

"You know I'm taking depositions for the Donovan case starting at three."

"Not anymore," he supervisor said with a grin. "I just got off the phone with Danielle Melnick. Donovan is ready to accept the deal we offered last night."

"You mean I get to go home before eleven for the first time this week," Rubirosa replied with a curious gaze. "My question is what changed Melnick's mind?"

"Ah, that might have something to do with some new evidence Lupo turned up," Cutter replied as he slipped into the office as he closed the door behind him. "Apparently the murder weapon was found this morning, loaded with Donovan's prints on it. Lupo just got the report back."

"He found the gun? With Detective Green out on mandatory leave, I don't know where Cy found the time to-"

"Cy," Cutter repeated as he leaned against the edge of Rubirosa's desk. "Sounds like Detective Lupo has become more than just a colleague."

Rubriosa rolled her eyes at her boss. Ever since the last evening they spent in her apartment, Rubirosa had given Cutter a wide berth. It wasn't that she found Cutter any less attractive or that she even regretted any of the time they had spent together. Although Cutter had made a point of not reacting to her declaration of her celibate lifestyle, Rubirosa was savvy enough to know how some men would take such a revelation and she was determined not be just one more challenge for the attractive EADA to try to meet.

"I helped him study for his procedures final a couple of weeks ago – not that it's any of your business," she replied bluntly. "Have you heard anything new about the case against Green?"

Cutter shook his head somberly.

"You're not going to like what I've heard Connie. Everything IAD as turned up so far indicates the shooting was anything but an accident or a case of self defense."

"I'll be honest with you Mike. I'm having a hard time imaging Detective Green as a suspect, much less a possible defendant."

"I understand. There were officers I working with for years in narcotics that I believed where above reproach," he said earnestly. "But they weren't Connie. Neither is Detective Green."

"I doubt Jack will see things so cut and dry," Rubirosa said candidly as she began selecting files to slip into her briefcase. "You know Green and a Detective named Fontana pretty much saved Jack's life when they found out he was on that hit list a few years ago."

"I heard."

"That's got to buy Green some kind of consideration with Jack."

"I guess will see if you're right soon enough," he replied as he moved to help his assistant slip her suit jacket over her shoulders. "Jack's due back tomorrow afternoon, isn't he?"

"Monday," Rubirosa replied as she leaned passed Cutter and grabbed a slip of pink paper off her desk to hand to him. "Jack called while you were in chambers with Judge Steinman. They extended their trip a few days to take a sailboat to Monte Carlo. He asked me to have you call him when you got back."

Cutter nodded as he glanced at the paper.

"Monte Carlo? Sounds like you were right about Jack knowing how to plan something romantic for his wife. Listen. After I call Jack I have to head down to Sex Crimes, but I should be out of the office by seven. Do you think I could meet you for-"

"Mike, I thought we discussed this the other night," she said firmly as she moved towards the door.

Cutter nodded as he grimaced and fought the urge to place a hand on her forearm.

"We did. But I heard you tell Lynn you wanted to see the new Chris Noth movie and I thought-"

"You're willing to sit through _Sex and the City: The Movie? _Mike, that's such a chick flick," she began incredulously.

"Which is why I asked a 'chick' to go see it with me," he retorted with a shy smile. "Come on Connie, a little popcorn a couple of laughs. It's harmless fun. What do you say?"

It was nearly eight o'clock when Rubirosa found herself walking swiftly through the Friday night theater crowd towards the theater that was but a few short blocks from her office on Hogan Place. After she had decided to use her suddenly free afternoon as comp time for the overtime she'd put in earlier in the week, Rubirosa found her errands had got quicker than expected, thus giving her time to dash home and change from her work attire into a pair of dark jeans , her favorite leather boots and jacket and a soft yellow cashmere sweater that was just the right balance between causal and semi formal.

She and Cutter had agreed to meet at the theater and munch on concession counter goodies and to grab a bite have the date night crowds died down after the film. The few times they'd been out Rubirosa had gotten the sense Cutter preferred small, causal bistro's to the larger cookie cutter restaurants that lined the theater district and downtown, so she took care not to over dress for the evening.

As she walked her thoughts drifted back to the last night Cutter had been at her apartment, the night after she had watched him play baseball…

"_...how about the 'I really like you , but I plan to remain a virgin until my wedding night' speech? How does that one suit you, Mike?"_

Rubirosa could still see Cutter's stunned expression in her mind's eye. It was obvious the EADA had been taken completely off guard, as he stared at her for a few beats, while he gathered his thoughts.

"_I have to admit Connie, I thought I'd anticipated every response you might have in mind, every response but that one," he said as he leaned back on the sofa. _

_Rubirosa watched with mild amusement as Cutter made an effort to relax and let his body calm down before continuing. She could feel her own heart pounding and hear how shallow her breath had become._

"_I hope you don't think…I wasn't trying to lead you on Mike."_

_Cutter looked at her sharply, as if taken by surprise yet again. With a small sigh he slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest_.

"_That possibility never crossed my mind Connie," he said with sincerity that reassured her. "You're a beautiful young woman. Just because you kissed me doesn't mean I'm entitled to something more. I'm just …well…I respect your position. I just didn't think-"_

_Rubirosa nodded in silent understanding. She knew she was part of a dying breed when it came to her lack of sexual experience. When she was younger she felt awkward…almost embarrassed…that she hadn't followed in so many of her friends footsteps and lost her virginity if not in high school, in college with an especially significant boyfriend._

_By the time she'd finished law school she had seen the less than happy results of her friends choices. Although saddened to see so many friends…so many young women with so much potential…either raising child they couldn't afford to care for on their own or trapped in marriages where the love had died about the same time the flowers from their prom corsages had… Rubirosa had found her choices vindicated and had grown more comfortable with her resolve to wait until she found the man she wanted to spend her life with before beginning a sexual relationship._

"_I'm sure you're more than a little surprised Mike. I didn't mean to spring it on you, but there really isn't a 'right' time to tell someone you're still a virgin."_

"_Wow… why does hearing that make me suddenly feel like a dirty old man," he said softly as he shook his head. "My God Connie, I haven't even thought about deflowering anyone since…"_

"_Why does hearing _that _make _me _feel like I'm about twelve," she retorted in a tone he knew so well that Cutter began to laugh._

"_You're hardly a child. It's just…I _am_ almost forty," Cutter admitted sheepishly. "You? You're still a baby-"_

"_I'm thirty two Mike. You're not robbing the cradle," she said with a smirk. "Most adults have sex by the time they're my age. It's not like I don't want to have sex, but-"_

"_You have standards," he cut in knowingly. "There's nothing wrong with that. It's one more thing I admire about you. But I don't want to lead you on either, Connie. I have to be honest; getting married isn't high on my list of priorities. At least, not right now." _

"Hi," Cutter said as Rubirosa scanned the crowd outside the theater. "Sorry I kept you waiting, That call to Jack took a little longer than I expected. Quite a crowd. I hope they don't sell out before we get our tickets."

Rubirosa nodded as she slipped her hand into her jacket pocket and fished out two tickets.

"I ordered them online before I left my place," she said proudly.

Cutter laughed good naturedly as he gave her an approving nod before taking her elbow and starting towards the double doors.

"At least I've managed to pull you one step further into the twenty first century," he said with a smile. "Now, if we can only get Jack to follow your lead-"

"Hey we've both seen him look up citations on the Westlaw site and I know he checks his email-"

"Baby steps Connie, baby steps," he said in a hushed tone that made his companion chuckle. "No, I my ultimate goal is to get Jack to use a webcam and tele commute to the office. Hey don't laugh. If he did that just think; Jack could be in Paris or Peru and still be able to run the office-"

"Could be and would be are two different things," she said with a smirk while she walked into the theater. "Jack enjoys being at the center of the storm even more than you do."

"Moi," Cutter replied with such innocence that Rubirosa couldn't help be amused.

Throughout the movie Cutter found himself focusing more on his companion than on any of the four beauties on the screen. His mind kept catching in between two vivid memories. The first being the night of Rubirosa's revelation. The second being his walk home afterwards, at which time cutter made a mental list of the reasons why it would be less than prudent to continue pursuing his assistant.

When he recalled her words Cutter remembered his stunned silence with more than a little embarrassment. At once he'd felt foolish and ashamed. Foolish at for not even considering a woman with such otherwise high moral standards might carry those standards over into her personal life as well. Ashamed that upon hearing the 'virgin' while stunned, he knew that even such an intimate revelation wasn't going to be enough to deter him from continuing to pursue her.

"Mike," he heard her say. Cutter turned to face her and tried to hide his surprise upon noticing people were all ready out of their seats and heading towards the exit doors of the theater. "I thought I lost you after the opening credits."

After quoting enough of the dialogue to assure her he had indeed been watching the movie, the pair fell into line with the rest of the crowd. Cutter's suggestion of splitting a bottle of wine and an order of antipasto at _Gino's_ was met with immediate agreement by Rubirosa.

"You never did tell me what kept you on the phone with Jack," Rubirosa said twenty minutes later after the waiter set their order in between them.

"Detective Green," Cutter replied as he handed Rubirosa the plate he'd been filling. "You were right when you said Jack wouldn't see things my way. Apparently Lt. Van Buren's been updating him. He made it clear he wants me to run by anything I plan to present to the grand jury by him beforehand."

"Don't take it personally," she said between mouth full's of pickled vegetables and assorted meats and cheeses. "He'd be the same way no matter who the lead prosecutor was."

"I know that. But the bottom line is if the evidence points to Green having a personal motive for killing that bookie, the smart thing for Jack to do is to distance himself. For the good of the office, as well as for his own good if he wants to run when the time comes."

"You know Jack's never been one to put his own interests before the interests of justice. I know that sounds idealistic, but it really is true. Besides," she continued not quite meeting his eyes. "Jack isn't the only one making choices these days that aren't for his own good."

Cutter gave her a sideways glance as he reached for a piece of garlic bread.

"Are you saying you're sorry we went to the movies tonight?"

"I'm saying you're wasting your time if you think tonight will change anything," she said candidly. "We both made ourselves pretty clear that night at my place Mike. You're not looking for a committed relationship right now and I respect that. But I am Mike."

"And I respect that as well. Look, I heard you loud and clear. You're right. I have no business pursuing a relationship with you Connie. Not only are we at different places in our lives, but you're a subordinate. I'd never want you to …I hope you know anything that does or doesn't go on effects nothing at the office."

"If I thought it did, I'd have gone to Jack weeks ago," she replied with a hint of a smile. "I almost went to him with that business over the juror after I realized he had no idea that guy had approached me on the street. But I didn't Mike. I didn't because you apologized and recognized what did for the mistake that it was. I admire the fact you can admit you're a flawed as the rest of us."

"More than you know," he said under his breath as he refilled each of their wine glasses. "When you say…it's not that I don't believe in commitment…"

"Mike, you don't have to explain yourself. You're driven professionally. I can see why the idea of marriage-"

"You can be driven and still have a personal life. I did. Have a personal life, that is. Once."

Rubirosa looked up from her plate thoughtfully. When she had done her unofficial background check on her new boss she had found a bonanza information on Cutter's professional abilities and interaction with colleagues on both sides of the aisle. Everything she'd learned was positive on that score. When it came to personal information the details were scanty at best.

There had been rumors of a relationship with Casey Novak from the sex crimes bureau about three years before Cutter's promotion. The pair had become friends while playing on the office baseball team while Novak was in the process of getting over the death of her fiancée. But from Rubirosa could gather, whatever the relationship had been, it was currently nothing more than a solid friendship. The few times the three of them had any interaction, Novak freely discussed her current involvements and gave no indication of any passion between the two prosecutors.

Aside from Novak, no one seemed to know anything else about the love life of Michael Cutter.

"What happened," she asked softly as Cutter eyes seemed to cloud.

"Iraq happened," he replied in a whispered tone after consuming the contents of his wine glass. "Her name was Ashley. We'd been married less than a year when she got her orders. She was killed in Bagdad four years ago when the squad she was commanding was ambushed. There were no survivors. "

"Mike, I'm sorry," she replied while her eyes widen in surprise. "I had no idea you were even married."

"It happened not too long after I joined the DA's office and took the position in Narcotics," he explained with the same kind of openness Rubirosa had become accustomed to over the six months she'd worked for him. "It's not something I like to dwell on. I'm telling you Connie, because I don't want you to get the wrong impression about me. I know I used my sexuality to try to nail that reporter a few months ago-"

"Mike, you don't have to apologize for-"

"I'm not," he said simply as he held her gaze. "I was trying to nail a killer. I didn't say I was wrong. I said I knew the kind of impression that might have left. Just like the other night at your place. Marriage is low on my priority list because losing Ashley changed me. I don't know if or when I'll be ready to think about another commitment like that. But I understand why commitment is important to you."

"Which leaves us where Mike," Rubirosa asked pensively.

"Right here living in the here and now," he said as he reached for her hand. "Listen Connie, I like you. I respect you both inside and outside of the office and I won't pretend I'm not attracted to you. I can think of at least twenty reasons why you'd be right to stop this right here right now. We work together, there's the age thing, not to mention the fact you can have any man you want. But the bottom line for me is I'd like to see you. We can go as fast or as slow as you want. But I want to see you. If you meet someone else, someone who can give what I can't right now, so be it. I'll understand. But for now, I'd be honored if you'd consider spending tomorrow with me."


	21. Chapter 21

Brooke McCoy leisurely pushed her sunglasses up passed her forehead and surveyed her husband appreciatively. Jack McCoy stood several feet away. McCoy was putting all of his energies into reeling in what appeared to be, a monstrous ocean creature. Both hands were on the reel, his back arched as he strained to keep from losing his rod all together. Brooke hurriedly slipped off the lounger and moved across the sail boat to slip her arms around his waist to further brace him.

After several false starts the couple moaned in unison as the line finally snapped, sending them stumbling backwards. Discarding the rod, McCoy caught his balance first. He turned to swiftly reach out and bring his wife into his embrace as his golden face grinned down at her.

"So much for fresh fish for dinner tonight."

"I've had enough sea bass to last a life time on this trip," Brooke said as she returned his smile. "You know, we could rough it and barbeque a couple of those steaks you bought before we set sail."

"Where's the fun in that," he asked mischievously as he bent down to kiss her.

After three days sailing the Mediterranean, both McCoy's were tan and well rested. Although they had gotten a late start their first day out, McCoy had already decided their voyage to Monte Carlo would follow a route that would be leisurely at best … in short…McCoy deliberately set a course that would bring the couple to their destination in four days as opposed to the usual day and a half.

When he explained his plan to Charles Henning, McCoy's new son-in-law had nodded approvingly. According to Henning, Rebecca had anticipated the other couple's need for some healing time by themselves. Henning reassured McCoy that there would indeed be plenty of time for catching up with Rebecca when the newlyweds arrived in Manhattan. While father and wife were away, Rebecca and her husband would focus on her mother and boyfriend who were scheduled to leave that Thursday.

Henning and McCoy agreed they would meet in Monte Carlo Friday afternoon; thus giving father and daughter a chance for one more chance to visit before McCoy and his wife prepared to return to Manhattan Saturday afternoon. Henning and wife would happily pilot the yacht back to Nice before they returned to Paris from their extended holiday.

"You're warm," he said softly as he caressed his wife's shoulders. "I'm going below for more bait. Wanna a drink?'

Brooke shot him a look as she rolled her eyes.

"I think I've had about all the sparkling cider I stomach in this lifetime," she replied with a smirk. "You know, I realize finding me on a pier bottle in hand might have sent the wrong message, but getting me out here without even a couple of splits of champagne? Well, it's wrong. It's just _wrong_."

"You'll live," he retorted smugly as he kissed her forehead. "Besides, it's not like I have a secret stash of scotch on board. It won't hurt either of us to dry out for a few days."

"If you get another call like the one you got this morning, you're gonna be wishing you had that secret stash," she replied as she followed him towards the galley. "You want to tell me what Mike had to say or is it too depressing to repeat?"

"Green hasn't been cleared yet," he responded with a heavy sigh. When McCoy extended his trip a few days he'd secretly hoped the news for Green would be better after IAD had a chance to review there findings. Sadly, the longer he was gone, the worse the news seemed to get. Several hours earlier McCoy had started his day with a new round of bad news from the cheif of detectives. Barely off the phone with the chief of detectives, his cell phone rang again and Mike Cutter confirmed what the high ranking officer had told him; the evidence against Green was getting stronger every day.

Cutter anticipated going to the grand jury for a murder two indictment no later than Tuesday of the next week. Part of McCoy wanted to dock at the nearest port and return to New York that day as soon as he heard the news. But when he had looked at his still sleeping wife, he knew Green's dilemma and any other professional disasters that awaited him in Manhattan, would have to be put on hold for a few more days.

The change in Brooke's attitude during the time they had been away had been remarkable. While McCoy wasn't naïve enough to think a few days on a pleasure trip would erase the trauma either of them had been through in the last few months, he had hoped some time alone would at least help them to recapture the simple pleasure that spending time together brought them.

McCoy knew detoxification took seventy two hours to complete. While he didn't honestly expect Brooke or himself for that matter, to exhibit classic detox symptoms such as hallucinations or severe spasms and tremors, he knew once his wife figured out what he had in mind the atmosphere might be less than pleasant…

"_God damn son of a bitch. I'm not a child, Jack. Why the hell is the bar completely empty," Brooke had demanded approximately five hours after they had first set sail._

"_Because I'll be God damned if I'm going to sit back and watch you fall any further into the bottle," he shot back stubbornly. "I agreed to keep the drinks coming if you choose to drink when we get to Monte Carlo. I said nothing about during the trip down."_

"_Bastard," she snapped as she glared angrily._

"_You know that mouth of yours is almost as colorful when you're not getting you way as it is when you're falling down drunk," he countered unapologetically. "Whether I'm a bastard or not won't change the fact the only thing there is to drink on board is sparking cider, orange juice and a particularly wide assortment of flavored water."_

"_No scotch," she sneered. "What is this, the Jack McCoy Floating Center for the alcoholically challenged?"_

_McCoy shrugged his shoulders and gave her a knowing half smile._

"_I never said you were the only one who's spent too much time with a drink in their hands."_

_Brooke stared uncertainly at her husband as she thought about her earlier conversation with Don Cragen. _

_  
"It hasn't been an easy time for either of us," she said with sudden softness as she lowered her eyes. "You shouldn't have to worry about me when you have you own problems back-"_

"_I have nothing more important going on in my life than you," McCoy said sincerely as he took her in his arms. "Listen, whatever is going on at home will be going on when we get back. We need this time. Not just because of the drinking, but because we deserve to take some time to ourselves. Believe it or not, I married you because I wanted to spend time with you; actually I wanted to spend a lifetime with you."_

"_So you think there's hope for us yet," Brooke asked with amusement as he handed her a bottle of sparking water._

"_With you there's always hope, love. Right now I think we need to face the fact it's just too easy to use alcohol as a crutch. I'm not saying I think either of us has crossed the point of no return. But, I have to admit if we don't deal with this now, I think anything is possible and the possibility of becoming a shadow of my father is a possibility I like to dwell on."_

_Brooke's surprise was evident in the expression on her face. Although she had heard from McCoy himself about his father's chronic alcoholism, it really hadn't occurred to her that her husband could even dream there was any real of chance of him becoming his father's son._

God_, she wondered as she set the bottle down and ran her hands tenderly through his hair, _how could I have been so thought less? How the hell could I have missed something that would weigh him down so…?

"_Never going to happen," she whispered before pressing her lips to his._

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"You're sure I can't interest you in more sparkling cider," McCoy joked as he slipped a steak onto the plate in front of his wife as the sun began to slip from the horizon.

Brooke stuck her tongue out and ignored the question as she took a sip from her water glass.

"I have a better question," she replied knowingly. "This is our fourth day out here. Did you really think I didn't know it only takes about a day and a half to sail from Nice to Monte Carlo? I may not be a sailor, but I _do_ know how to read a map, Jack."

"Maybe you forgot we never had a honeymoon," he replied coyly as he gave her his most charming smile. "A slow boat to Monte Carlo may not be much but-"

"It's everything that I need and so much more," she said as she returned his smile. "But I think there's more to this trip than a late honeymoon and a sobriety check. I think you want to avoid what's waiting for you at home as long as you can and I certainly can't blame you for that."

McCoy shrugged his shoulders as his smile faded. While he had finally got his personal worries in order, he knew he had a whole new batch of professional worries waiting for him at home.

Had he still been an EADA, McCoy may have recused himself from the case, fearing the years he and Ed Green had worked together might ceffect his objectivity. But as DA McCoy knew he had no choice but to direct his office to follow the law based on the evidence gathered.

Even if the evidence led to prosecuting a respected detective like Ed Green.


	22. Chapter 22

Connie Rubirosa's finger tips flew across her keyboard before she leaned back in her chair and let her index fingers leisurely roll over the mouse pad to scroll downward. It was just before seven o'clock on a dreary Manhattan morning and Jack McCoy was set to return to work later that day. The office was like the calm before the storm; clerical cubicles still deserted and the coffee maker silent as was the rest of the tenth floor.

"Wow," Rubriosa said under her breath; so absorbed with what she was reading she failed to hear the elevator doors open down the hall.

The young ADA had been at once saddened and fascinated by the idea that her supervisor not only had been married, but had lost his wife in Iraq. While she knew her snooping could be consider violation of Cutter's privacy should he become aware of her Google search on Ashley Cutter, Rubirosa found herself unable to resist. The legitimate research she'd come in an hour earlier to do for a case was complete, the office was still empty and neither Cutter or Jack McCoy were due in until well after eight a.m…

The information that popped up on her screen came from the obituary section of the _New York Times_ for April 8th of 2002.

_Services for Lt. First Class Dr. Ashley Sue Nelson Cutter will be held Saturday April 10__th__ at St. Marks Church in Brooklyn Heights will full military honors. Lt. Cutter is survived by her husband of seven months, Manhattan Assistant District Attorney Michael Cutter, her sister Judith Banks, her parents April and Randolph Nelson of Westchester. _

_Lt. Cutter, age 34, had been stationed in Bagdad approximately five months when she and her unit where attacked without warning just outside the army's medical aid station. In addition to Lt. Cutter's outstanding service to her country over the last six years in the United States Army, she was a graduate of Johns Hopkins University, specializing in emergency room medincine. Lt. Cutter received her degree in medicine in 1998. _

"Wow," echoed an unexpected voice. Rubirosa swung her chair around with such force she nearly knocked the detective who was reading the screen over her shoulder to the ground. Cyrus Lupo met the ADA's startled gaze with one of his own. "I didn't know Cutter had a wife."

"You're not supposed to. Ever hear of a right to privacy, detective,' Rubirosa snapped as she clear the screen. "That right includes not sneaking up on people."

Lupo stared back at the attractive brunette, amused by the irony of her statement. As amusement replaced surprise in the detective eyes, Rubirosa's face brightened while Lupo smiled down at her.

"A right to privacy," Lupo said after a few more beats. "Really? Does that extend to ADA's as well?"

"Sorry. Mike mentioned his wife and I guess my curiosity got the better of me," she said as she chewed on her lowered lip.

"Understandable," Lupo said with unexpected graciousness. "You and Cutter haven't been partnered up long. It's natural to be a little curious. I'm sure Ed felt the same way when I was thrust upon him."

"That's got to be a two way street – especially with everything that's going on now," Rubirosa replied as she stood and moved towards the coffee machine at the other end of her office. "Coffee?"

"If you've got creme, sure. Actually, Ed is why I'm here," Lupo said as he watched Rubirosa with appreciative eyes.

Although he had a history with a sister-in-law that was now free, Lupo's guilt over his estrangement from his brother at the time of his death still haunted the detective enough that any thought he had of pursuing the young widow was quickly laid to rest. When Lupo realized his new partner had eyes for her, Lupo was genuinely pleased and slightly relieved.

"Would it be too much to hope that means you've uncovered new evidence that clears Detective Green of all charges," she asked as she turned back to Lupo while the machine came to life.

"Way too much. Ed's all but confessed, there's more to the story. Cutter should be getting a call from either Johnson or Bernard this morning pushing you guys to seek an indictment."

"Great," she said with a sigh as she reached for a mug. "I appreciate the head's up, Cy. But you didn't have to come all the way down here just to tell me about Green. That's what voice mail is for you know."

Lupo's lips turned upward as he took the mug from her hand.

"Well, there_ is_ another reason for my visit."

Rubirosa gazed at him curiously as Lupo wondered how someone so quick in the courtroom could be so slow out of it.

"Need another crash course in procedures," she asked as she poured another cup of coffee.

"Actually, that might not be a bad idea but, no. That's not the reason I'm here. Actually, there's a four legged fella that would love to take another walk in the park with you after work if you have the time?"

Rubirosa smiled as she thought of Lupo's new best friend that she'd taken an immediate liking to a few weeks before when she and the detective had met in Central Park to review for Lupo's final exam in criminal procedures.

"Let me call you this afternoon. This is Jack's first day back. Who knows how late I'm gonna be once he hears whatever IAD has on Green."

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	23. Chapter 23

"Good morning…Jack McCoy…you have twenty eight new messages…."

The district attorney groaned as he listened to the greeting on his office voice mail. Although he'd left home tanned, rested, and anxious to get back into the office that was like a second home to him, a half hour after arriving, he was wishing he was back on a sailboat in the middle of the Mediterranean.

As he listened and alternately erased or saved voice messages, McCoy shifted through the mountain of small pink papers that had been stacked neatly on his desk. At the top of the pile were seven messages from legendary defense attorney Shambala Green. Without even reading the messages McCoy knew not only what she wanted, but also how futile any attempt to dodge Green would be.

Once McCoy finished reviewing his voice mail he began dialing Green's office number; knowing it was better to get her infuriated tirade out of the way. As the receptionist for Green-Stone and Associates told the DA that the senior partner was out of the office, the intercom button on McCoy's phone buzzed. A moment later Shambala Green flew through McCoy's door and into his office.

"Jack you and I both know what they're trying to do to Ed is outrageous, if not criminal."

"And you know as District Attorney my hands are tied," he shot back not unkindly. "Should I assume you'll be representing your cousin if this thing goes to trial?"

"You know what they say about assumptions Jack," Green replied as she shook her head at his silent offer of coffee. "Ed won't even discuss the investigation with me. He just keeps telling me to trust him – as if there was ever any doubt of that. Anita Van Buren finally convinced him to at least get a recommendation for counsel from his union rep. I never wished more that Lennie Briscoe was still alive. If anyone could get through to Ed, it would be Lennie."

McCoy nodded earnestly. McCoy knew the late detective had been not only respected, but loved by all three of his younger partners. Although Logan, Curtis, and Green were very different men, each had grown not only professional but personally during the time they spent with Briscoe.

"Maybe you should think about giving Joe Fontana a call," McCoy offered as he flipped through the rolodex on his desk. "I know they didn't partner together long, but I know they've stayed in touch since Fontana left the force. There seems to be a bond there. Maybe Fontana can give you some insight into what your cousin is involved in."

Green shot McCoy an annoyed glance as she took the card and slipped it into her pocket.

"The only thing my cousin is 'involved in' is solving homicide cases for the 2 7. Listen Jack, I've faced you in court enough times to know how important winning is to you. I also know you get no joy in prosecuting innocent men. Isn't there something you can do? Word has it your office is just a breath away from calling a grand jury to issue an indictment. Can't you call off the dogs until-"

"You know the answer to that question without even asking it," he shot back with more impatience than he intended, as he fought the urge to probe further in order to find out exactly whose 'word' had leaked information to an advisary from the other side of the aisle. "Even if I wanted to step in, you know it would be worse for Detective Green if it looks like the DA's office is giving an NYPD officer special treatment."

"Worse for Ed or worse for you," she countered; immediately regretting her words.

"Shambala, I know you're worried-"

"Yes, I am," she said with a sigh. "But that doesn't excuse what I just said. I'm sorry Jack. I know better than that. I just…I know my cousin. Not that Ed doesn't have his demons… we all do. It's just… he was always one to protect everybody but himself…"

"You think he's protecting somebody now?"

"That's the only explanation for the way he's acting," she said intently. "So secretive, so unwilling to talk about what went on that night…he has to be protecting someone... I just can't figure out whom that someone is."

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Fifty miles from the Manhattan District Attorney's office, Brooke McCoy leaned back in her chair and gazed intently at the man sitting across the desk from her.

"And exactly who is the 'someone' that is taking over for the DA?"

Jake Cohen held her gaze, despite the fact he looked like he might lose his breakfast any second.

"Brooke, you have to understand. Michael had a heart attack. You were out on leave. Taz still isn't back from maturity leave. The next person in line to fill the EADA slot was Ramirez and he hasn't even been with the office-"

"Jake. Just spit it out. Who exactly did Michael ask to cover for him while he recovers from his heart attack?"

"I would have called you," he continued defensively. "But you were not only out of the country; you were in the middle of the Mediterranean. I'll bet reception on your cell was –"

"Jesus Jake, do I have walk across the hall and open Michael's door to find out who I'm working for at the moment," she said as she stood in exasperation."If he called Clint to come in from Vermont, I wouldn't be surprised. It would make sense that he asked someone with enough experience-"

"It's not Clint. Although I did suggest him," Cohen reluctantly admitted.

Brooke waited several beats for him to continue. When he faltered she let out a frustrated sigh and started towards the door.

"Wait," he said as he reached for her arm. "It's Sam. Sam is taking over indefinitely until-"

"Oh God," Brooke whispered as she searched Cohen's face. "Michael wouldn't have…Oh God Jake… how bad was that heart attack?"

"Bad. He is home, but-"

"For him to go to Sam…Michael doesn't plan on coming back does he," she asked as she leaned on the edge of her desk. "Come on Jake. You know I'm right. Michael wouldn't have asked and Sam never would have accepted if they weren't thinking about the party and next year's election. Michael'd sooner eat dirt than let Devon Malloy get a shot at the DA spot. He would have only asked Sam to do this because he knows if push comes to shove, with his record from his time as a prosecutor here in the eastern district, Sam could easily defeat Malloy if he had to run in Michael's place."

"Well it's good to see you came back from your trip sharper than ever," Cohen replied cautiously. "For the record, if Michael hadn't called Sam from his hospital bed in ICU to ask him, I doubt Sam would have even considered working with you after the last time you two were together."

Brooke's face flushed as she recalled the barrage of cutting remarks she'd thrown at her ex-husband shortly before leaving the country.

"I'm sure you're right. Any idea how the new Mrs. Prescott feels about it?"

"Hum...actually…well..."

"Oh my God Jake, stop acting like your terrified of me! Cut the kit glove routine and spill!"

"Danielle supports Sam the way most of us breathe," he said simply. "It's like second nature to her."

"Okay, that's good," Brooke replied suspiciously.

"She supports him enough to… well… the tenants are leaving your house at the end of the month and Danielle is already talking about redecorating-"

"They're leaving Manhattan," she said incredulously. "Danielle's practice has been there for-"

"She's going to telecommute part of the week and take clients here in Islip as well."

Brooke could feel the blood drain from her face as she thought about the likelihood of running up against the new Mrs. Prescott in court on a regular basis.

"So we lost a DA and gained a barracuda across the aisle?"

Before Cohen could respond the light tap on Brooke's office door interrupted the discourse. A moment later Sam Prescott sheepishly opened the door and peered in apprehensively.

"May I have a word with you, Mrs. McCoy?"


	24. Chapter 24

"I know we said no more alcohol for a while, but after the day I had I'm ready to make an exception," McCoy remarked while he turned from the bar and handed his wife a drink as she set her briefcase beside the coat rack.

"No argument here," Brooke replied before she gave him a quickly kiss. "Hard day at the office, honey?"

"You have no idea," he said with a sigh as the pair moved towards the sofa.

"The first day back after vacation is always tough."

"Not this tough," McCoy snorted before he took a sip of his scotch on the rocks.

"No matter what happened in Manhattan, I guarantee you my day was worse than yours," Brooke said with a smirk as she slipped her shoes off.

"I seriously doubt that. I wasn't in the office more than ten minutes when I had one of your best friends breathing down my neck about the pending charges against her cousin. Top that," he replied smugly.

"Shambala?"

"The one and only. The thing is, I agree with just about everything she had to say. If I was still a prosecutor, I might have been in a position to do something to help. As if stands now, all I can do is stand back and let the police do their job."

"I know how hard it is for you to watch someone like Ed Green being investigated like the criminals he's spent his career putting behind bars. But you're doing the right thing, Jack. Not just for your office, but for Green as well," Brooke replied as she set her glass of the coffee table. She smiled as McCoy gave her untouched drink a quizzical look. "Don't worry. I'll get to it soon enough. Hell, after the day I had, you might have to bring the bottle over here just so I can unwind enough to get to sleep later."

"Are you saying you _still_ think you can top the disaster my day was," he scoffed as he leaned back and shot her a challenging stare.

"Hands down," Brooke replied smugly while she brought her stocking clad legs up and encircled them with her arms as she leaned back against the opposite arm of the sofa. "Ninety minute delay on the Long Island Railroad this morning and that was before I even opened my office door."

"I lost my bureau chief for narcotics before noon," McCoy shot back without missing a beat.

"Gonzalez quit? Why?"

"Had enough of death threats and plea bargains with dealers."

"Too bad. We're down not only a ADA but Michael, as well."

"Jackowicz is sick," McCoy replied with genuine concern.

"Heart attack while we were gone and that's not the worst part. Ready to admit your day was a walk in the park compared to mine?"

"I not only lost Gonzalez, but I'm a heartbeat away from losing Novak in SVU," he shot back stubbornly. "Plus it took me until eleven to get through all the damn messages that piled up while I was gone."

"Losing Novak would hurt," Brooke admitted. "Why?"

"Don't know. Liz Donnelly called to get me Liz a heads up after she ran into Novak at the courthouse this morning. Apparently there are some personal issues, but Liz wouldn't get into specifics."

"Well, I admit that's a blow, but no where _near_ as unnerving as my news."

McCoy picked up his wife's glass and arrogantly handed it to her.

"Cutter is indicting Green on murder two charges." Although McCoy enjoyed the game of one ups man ship he was playing with his wife, even Brooke's look of astonishment couldn't brighten his weary face as he spoke the words he still didn't quite believe himself. "You know I can't give you details, but the evidence is solid that the shooting was more than self defense. It's a shame Green won't let Shambala lead his defense team. He's going to need all the help he can get."

"Oh Jack. That _is_ devastating news. I am so sorry. But, we both know there has to be more to the story," she said firmly. "With any luck, someone on the case will turn up something to clear him or Green himself will come to his senses and fill in the blanks."

"So I guess now we know who's day_ really _was a disaster ," McCoy replied triumphantly as he lifted his glass.

"I guess that depends on how you define disaster," she said with a sly grin as she took a sip of her drink.

"Listen, I'm sure Michael will be back in the office soon enough. You filling in for him isn't exactly what I'd call a disaster. In fact, it seems to me a celebration might be in order, Madam District Attorney."

"Hum, Jack. You forget, I was on leave when Michael got sick."

"You're still his Executive?"

"That I am, but I wasn't at the time. Michael had no way of knowing when I'd be in shape to step in again and as good as Jake is in the courtroom, he simply doesn't have the procedural background to –"

"Are you saying Michael pulled someone in from outside the office," McCoy said with growing concern. "How bad was this heart attack?"

Brooke shrugged her shoulders as she reached for McCoy's glass and slipped it into his hands as she raised an eyebrow.

"Michael hasn't been himself since Janine's death in the clinic bombing. I doubt he'll be back any time soon, if at all."

"But he has an election coming up in the fall."

"Which is why he had to put someone in there that has enough name recognition to pull in a majority of the voters. People throughout the county still remember the man who prosecuted Vladimir Valanski and by doing so, virtually shut down the Russian mafia in this county for years afterwards."

McCoy held his drink in one hand as he scathed his head with the other, before his eyes slowly widened as he remembered that it had been Sam Prescott who had prosecuted the Russian king pin.

"You win," he said flatly as he downed the remains of his drink before standing.

"Where are you going?"

"To get the bottle. After the day you've had you need as much liquor as you can get your hands on. Dare I ask what you plan to do?"

"Come back here," she said as she playfully pulled at his hand. "I plan to do what I've been doing for almost the twenty years; I plan to prosecute the bad guys. At least one McCoy needs to stay in the courtroom and since you already accepted the DA post-"

"You really think you and Sam can pull this off without pulling each other one apart...verbally if not physically," he asked with the skeptical scowl that was his trademark.

Brooke tilted her head as he looked up into the dark eyes that so many seemed to find intimidating and stern; the same eyes she found hypnotic and inviting. Once again, she tugged on his hand and waited for him to sit and slip his arm around her shoulder before responding with a sigh.

"I plan to take things one day at a time, just like we talked about that last night on the boat," she replied as she thoughtfully ran a hand through his hair. "These days, the last thing I'm looking to do is take on another battle, Jack. Right now, the only thing I'm sure I can pull off is being Mrs. John James McCoy. Everything else, I'll take as it comes."

"Well, as long as you're sure of that," he said with a wicked smile as he drew her close. Although McCoy had concerns that lingered even after hearing his wife's assurances as he kissed her, thoughts of anything other than making uninterrupted love with his wife, were quickly brushed aside.


	25. Chapter 25

Several hours later, a pair of empty high ball glasses sat on the coffee table alongside another pair of dinner plates and eating utensils. Discarded business attire littered the wood flooring of the loft; creating a trail of cloth from the living room to the master bedroom.

As she listened to the sound of her husband's deep, steady breathing, Brooke snuggled closer to him and gently kissed his cheek. McCoy instinctively used the leg he had wrapped around her to draw her closer as he slept.

She knew things were far from perfect, yet they were so much better than they had been before their trip to France. Brooke could tell by the way he had talked earlier that being back at the office was just what Jack McCoy needed to help him lay to rest the grief and regret he felt due to loss of their child. Brooke had to admit, even with the acting DA to deal with, she found slipping back intot the comforting routine of her job more natural thanshe had just a few weeks earlier.

Jackowicz had been right. Brooke had needed more time to come to terms with her personal sorrow. Having had that time, she felt better equipped to not only deal with her caseload, but with her ex-husband as well.

_After Cohen had gone, Sam Prescott took a seat across from Brooke and gave her a tentative smile._

"_I want you to know I didn't go lookin' for this. If the man hadn't called me from IUC to ask me to step in, I never would have put either of us in this situation."_

_Brooke nodded as she smiled back at him._

"_Any chance Michael will come back to fill out the remainder of his term?"_

_Prescott regretfully shook his head._

"_He's tired darlin'. It's that simple," he said frankly. "We both know he lost a lot of ground when Ruth died. After losing Janine, Michael's basically a broken man. If it weren't for his daughter and grandchildren I don't think he'd have any will to go on. As it is, the only chance he has of lastin' longer than six months is to cut any and all stress from his life. That means holding any kind of elected office is out of the question."_

"I'm n_ot surprised. I've just been so preoccupied…," she began and then let her voice falter as she thought about the last time she had seen Prescott. "Maybe self absorbed is a more accurate description."_

_As if reading her thoughts, Prescott shook his head as he leaned forward._

"_You have every right to feel what you're feelin', girl. I know this isn't the time nor the place, but I knew I was playin' with fire when I told Jack about your medical history. I knew there would be consequences. I can deal with that. What I'm not sure about is whether you can deal with havin' to look at my ugly mug five days a week. I told Michael I'd hold down the fort until you got back and then it'd be up to you. We both know there's no reason in this world why you shouldn't be sittin' in the office across the hall. All you have to do is say the word…"_

_Brooke shook her head as she sighed and rested her chin in her hands. Had the opportunity to act as DA come just a few months earlier, Brooke knew she would have jumped at it. After the kidnapping that seemed so long ago, Brooke had anxiously looked forward to returning to work and focusing on her career. Even after marrying McCoy, she hadn't had any intention of leaving the career she loved. Despite the fact she knew as McCoy came closer to running for elected office, the new responsibilities that came with being the wife of an elected official would tug at her schedule, Brooke felt confident she could find a balance between her career and her personal obligations._

_But after the abortion, she knew her priorities had shifted dramatically._

_Suddenly taking a week or two or three to spend time at home or to fly to see her step daughter didn't seem out of the question. Suddenly the idea of running the DA's office didn't have appeal it once did. Suddenly she found herself looking in the quizzical eyes of her ex-husband and knowing she had rounded an emotional corner and was quite content not to look back._

"_You better run that one by your new wife, Samuel. I hear Danielle's already looking at wall paper samples and has an order in for a shingle for her Islip practice."_

"_You and I both know Danielle lives and breathes Manhattan," he said with a wink."You could have knocked me over with a feather when she told me she'd pull up stakes and move out here. That woman never seizes to amaze me. But the truth be told, if I told her I was declinin' to fill in for Michael after all, I doubt Danielle would lose any sleep over it. Now-"_

"_What about your superiors over at the Federal Proescutors office?"_

"_I'm doin' a little double duty until the last couple of big fishes I had to fry across the street go to verdict. That's one reason I was relieved you were ready to come back to work. If I stay, I'm gonna need you to run the show for the next month or so while I'm in Federal Court, although I think this whole discussion is academic. We both know how driven you are, honey. You'd do a fine job as acting DA. You weren't shy about tellin' me to vamoose the last time we spoke; don't be shy about it now," he said knowingly. "I'm a big boy. I can take it."_

"_And I'm a big girl, Sam. I know what I want and this isn't it." she said without malice. "Michael made the right choice. If he doesn't come back you have a strong chance of winning in the general election. Looks like you're the one with a decision to make. Better decide if you want to be a prosecutor or a politician."_

_Prescott's uneasiness brought a smile to Brooke's lips, as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair._

"_You're sure about this, honey? I mean, considerin'-"_

"_Sam, please. Just do what you need to do for yourself. I know what I'm doing. You were right that day on the train," she said firmly as she reached across the desk and took his hand. "I didn't mean what I said. It was the meanest, nastiest thing I could think of at the time and I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to be in the same office with me, much less the same room."_

"_Ah hell, I knew what I did was goin' to cost me. I know what you're like when you've set your mind on somethin'. But I still stand by that decision, no matter how unpopular it might be."_

"_I know you do," she said softly as she slipped her hand out of his and back to her side of the desk. For a brief moment she pictured the night she first made love with Jack McCoy. She smiled a secretive smile as she thought about McCoy's unexpected surge of gentlemanly chivalry… how he had tried to 'warn' her about the kind of man he was and his less than perfect track record with relationships. _

_Brooke remembered countering his argument with a flippant comment about how although she had a 'good' marriage; it was far from a perfect one. She shook her head while Prescott waited impatiently for her to continue and realized how accurate her comment to McCoy had been. _

"_You know Sam, the upside to what you did is that... well let's just leave it at you did what you had to do," she said as she picked up her glasses and reached for a file from her tray. "Like you said, this is neither the time nor the place for-"_

"_Damn it Mal. Just say it. Please. If we're goin' try to work together we need the air clear here and now," he said with surprising bluntness. "I won't say I wasn't hurt by what you said, but I 'pose I had it comin'. If there's more, I'd like to hear it and have it done."_

"_God, you never could leave well enough alone, could you," she snapped before dropping the glasses on top of the file folder. _

"_Nope," he said with a smug smile as he leaned back and waited._

"_Fine," she said with resignation as she leaned back as well. "The upside to your well meaning interference is it kind of smashed the myth once and for all. Which is a good thing, since we are both not only in love with other people, but married to them."_

"_What in hell is that supposed to mean? 'The myth'," he repeated thoughtfully. As he turned the words over in his mind his face became more puzzled as Brooke's smile widened into a cat like grin._

"_Come on Sam, the Perfect Prescott Partnership myth. You know people thought we were the Romeo and Juliet of Suffolk county."_

"_You're sayin' we weren't?"_

"_I'm saying even though we loved each other more than life itself, you never did know when to back off when it came to protecting me. Not that I didn't have my moments, as well."_

"_Amen to that sister," he said with a chuckle._

"_My point is, that what you did made me see even more clearly why Jack makes me…"_

"_Oh lord…I get it," he said with an exaggerated groan._

"_You asked," she reminded him playfully as he stood and began moving towards the door._

Impulsively Brooke kissed her sleeping husband with mounting passion as she thought about her exchange with her former husband. After a moment McCoy's body stirred and he responded; sleepily at first and then with increased alertness.

"You're insatiable, woman," he whispered as he turned to look at the clock on the bedside table. "Brooke it's almost three. What's on your mind that's got you wide awake just a few hours before you have to get ready to go to work?"

"You," she responded as she slipped a hand under the sheets and over his thigh. "You and what I want to do to your body before either of us have to even think about getting out of bed."

Brooke heard him laugh softly as he ran his hand down her back and pressed her close before he ran his other hand over her breasts.

"The spirit is willing, but the body love, I'm not so sure about the body," he said hoarsely.

"I am," she said with sudden seriousness as she scanned the eyes that danced with silent humor. "I'm sure. Not only about the body, but the heart, the mind, the whole package."

"I love you too," he whispered as the look in eyes grew tender.

As his hands wandered over her body, Brooke closed her eyes and unashamedly took pleasure in the skillful attention her husband applied to her body. As she moaned softly she her thoughts fleetingly returned to her conversation with Prescott. Brooke knew she'd been right.

Brooke knew…despite petty confrontations like the one they'd had over Vanessa Galinano or more serious parting of the ways, like the decision to terminate the pregnancy…Brooke knew who had her mind, body, and heart.

Although she knew Jack McCoy could be a ruthless son of a bitch both in and out of the court room, it was his directness; that blunt, almost compulsive need to state his case whether or not he was of the same mind of his wife, both endeared him to her and gave her a cushion of safety she knew she had never felt with anyone else.

Brooke knew no matter how dire the situation, she could count not only seeing through the familiar scowl of disapproval and defiance, but on having her husband state his case honesty, openly, and without apology.

She knew Jack McCoy would never disappear from her life in the name of protection or for any other reason. She knew that they were truly partners in life, as opposed to just man and wife.


	26. Chapter 26

As Joe Fontana's polite smile grew into a knowing grin, Anita Van Buren turned to see what amused the former detective so much. Van Buren shook her head as they both watched Jack McCoy swagger across the crowded diner.

"Just coffee," McCoy told the waitress who set his companions breakfast orders down as he took a seat next to Van Buren.

"That's all," the young woman asked curiously. "Our breakfast special features homemade-"

"Honey," Van Buren injected sagely. "I guarantee you, this one's already sampled some homecookin' this morning."

McCoy could feel his face brighten as he gave each of his companions a frosty stare which only served to turn the pair's chuckles into outright laughter.

"Cute. I expect that kind of juvenile display from someone like Fontana, but not from you Anita," he said gruffly as she waitress filled his cup and departed.

"Someone like Fontana," the dapper man in the navy colored Armani suit repeated with a feigned look of pain.

"Listen counselor, all I meant was it's obvious marriage agrees with you," Van Buren replied smoothly before turning her attention to the plate of eggs and bacon in front of her. "Besides Jack, there are only two reasons you walk that walk. Since your not trying cases anymore, we know you haven't just broken a hostile witness on the stand, so ..."

McCoy tried and failed to maintain the scowl that usually served to silence and intimidate the person it was directed at. Not only couldn't he argue with Van Buren's astute logic, he also found it hard not to smile when he thought of his wife and surprising amount of love making that had taken place between the time they'd gone to bed and the time he reluctantly got up to dress for work.

"How is the lovely Mrs. McCoy," Fontana asked as he buttered a slice of toast; his grin still unwavering.

"Brooke is good," he began, immediately regretting his words as his companions began to snicker. With a sigh McCoy shook his head impatiently. "She told me to give you both her love, but I'm sure neither of you came down here to dwell on my marriage. Joe what do you know about this mess Green's got himself into?"

The amusement that had been in the savvy Italian's eyes was quickly replaced by a look of concern.

"Before you arrived the Lieutenant assured me whatever is said here was never said. Do I have that same assurance from the District Attorney?"

"Not if you're going to tell me Green actually killed that man with malice afore thought," McCoy shot back bluntly.

"There was malice, but not the kind that makes a murder two charge," Fontana retorted quietly. "The victim was a piece of scum that sucked the life's blood out of decent people that got in over their heads with an addiction they couldn't control. The world's a better place without that little Bunny rabbit."

"Amen to that," Van Buren added scornfully. "Now Jack, I've commanded the 2 7 long enough to know my detectives aren't all saints. Lennie had the bottle and the ponies, Logan had a mouth that worked faster than his brain, and Profacci," Van Buren sighed heavily as she shook her head at the sound of the former detective's name. "I don't even want to _think_ about Profacci. Ed might be a gambler, but a murderer? Not ed. Not for personal gain."

"Anita, I wouldn't be sitting here if I wanted to take the evidence at face value," McCoy remarked as he picked up the sugar dispenser. "If either of you know something that will help Detective Green, now's the time to tell me. Cutter and Rubirosa are convening a grand jury this morning to seek a murder two indictment. If Green won't help himself, someone has to do it for him."

Fontana gazed down at the remains of his omelet for several beats before meeting McCoy's inquisitive stare.

"Ed won't tell me anything about the night of the shooting. After the story hit the news I called him myself. We met for a drink. I think he showed up more out of a sense of obligation, than to confide anything," Fontana began before smiling sheepishly. "That and the fact he knew if he was a no show, I'd just use all the resources at my disposal as a partner in Fontana-Jeffries Investigations to smoke him out."

"But he _did _tell you things before the shooting," Van Buren prodded. "Things a partner tells a partner, not a CO. Maybe things that might help explain his behavior the night of the shooting?"

Fontana nodded in agreement as he drank from the cup of espresso in front of him.

"Exactly," Fontana replied. "There was a woman… a girlfriend… Ed got her involved in gambling and she ended up being used by this Bunny character because of it."

"Used," McCoy repeated warily.

"Used," Fontana said holding the other man's gaze, "in a way only a woman can be used by a man."

"Sounds like a motive to shoot the son of a bitch," McCoy candidly remarked.

"Or a motive for the lady to shoot the son of a bitch that turned her into a whore," Fontana shot back with satisfied smile.

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When Connie Rubirosa appeared in his door way, the way McCoy gruffly command for her to come in and close the door behind her, told the ADA that news of that morning's presentation to the grand jury had traveled from Centre Street to Hogan Place at lightning speed.

"I'm having the water coolers in this building checked this afternoon," McCoy remarked shortly as he watched Rubirosa take a seat in front of his desk.

"For what," she asked uneasily.

"For whatever it is that is turning usually sharp witted prosecutors into advocates for the defendants they are _supposed_ to be prosecuting," he shot back as he leaned forward and met her startled stare. "First Novak, now you…Damn it Connie, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking about justice," Rubirosa shot back defiantly. "Isn't that what a prosecutor is supposed to be thinking about Jack, not winning at all costs?"

"A prosecutor finds justice by following the evidence where ever it leads, no matter who it might lead him or her to prosecute. You worked with me long enough not to be naive, Connie. Personal bias has no place in this office," he retorted with intensity that made Rubirosa inwardly cringe.

"I can understand Mike acting like this…he's new…but you Jack? We know Detective Green. Don't tell me you believe he's capable-"

"We're all capable of unspeakable things, given the right circumstances," he interjected incredulously. "In the time I've been in this office I've seen husbands cut their wives into pieces, I've seen children have their parents killed for the sake of a buck…my God…I've put people I've known most of my adult life in prison because they put living the high life with mafia Dons above the law. Don't expect me to look the other way when the evidence points to murder…not even when it's pointing to an otherwise good cop. No one gets a free pass for murder from his office, including Ed Green."

Rubirosa's defiant smirk wavered as she pondered the DA's words. She knew had been a child when McCoy had prosecuted former mafia lawyer Paul Kopell for his part in the death of a juror after witness tampering had ensured his client of a not guilty verdict. It wasn't until she came to the DA's office that she learned McCoy had gone to law school with the other man. Adding that to the stories she'd heard about the prosecution of his former lover Diana Hawthorne for tampering with evidence, Rubirosa had no doubt her boss put the law above any personal relationship with any defendant.

"Of course you're right, Jack. No one gets a free pass on murder," she said quietly as she turned her gaze from McCoy to her hands. "You won't have to tell me twice. I'll apologize to Mike as soon as he gets back from court."

"I'd expect nothing less from you Connie, after all you've been trained by the best," he said with a softened tone as Rubirosa looked up with amusement in her eyes. "You're too good at what you do to let personal feelings color your judgment. That being said," he continued with a smile of his own. "Find out what you can about the women in Green's life. Go back, say five no, make it ten years."

"Women," Rubirosa repeated as she wiggled her nose. She knew better than to even think McCoy would dig up dirt just for the sake of seeing how dirty Green's personal business was, but her confused expression told McCoy she had no idea where he was going with his suggestion. "Are we looking for any particular woman, Jack?"

McCoy leaned back in his chair as he thought of his conversation with Van Buren and Fontana.

"April. We are looking for a woman named April," he replied with certainty that gave the young ADA some much needed comfort.


	27. Chapter 27

_Watching Martha Stewart during a session at the dentist, I learned about Manhattan's 'Hat' luncheon and immediately thought it would be the perfect place for Brooke to get a taste of what Manhattan's upper crust was like. A taste both she and Jack may have to accquire if he does indeed run for DA._

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"You know McCoy, April Fool's day was a few months ago," Jake Cohen commented as he and Brooke McCoy exited the conference room in the Suffolk county DA's office.

"This is no joke," Brooke replied as she slipped a parchment envelope out of her coat pocket and handed it to the Senior ADA. "See for yourself."

Cohen took the invitation out of the envelope and snickered softly as he read the engraved lettering.

"And do you even know who Frederick Law Olmsted is and he's inviting a hand to mouth civil servant like you to a luncheon with tickets that start at five hundred bucks?"

Brooke shrugged her shoulders as she opened her office door and motioned for her best friend to take a seat.

"Because this civil servant went and married the New York county DA," she replied lightly as she scanned the pink pieces of paper piled on the center of her desk. "I already talked to Shambala this morning. It's some sort of fundraiser for Central Park. A big deal with the society crowd gathering, hench a big deal for the wives of the political big wigs on the other side of the bridge, hench-"

"Hench you're out five big ones, not to mention the cost of the outfit and hat."

"Hat?"

"Hat," Cohen repeated smugly as he tossed the card and envelope on the desk. "Now that you mention it, I heard about this on one of Martha's shows that day I was out sick a few weeks ago...oh that's right…you wouldn't know that because _you_ were having hot sex with Jack on the French Rivera, while I was-"

"Yeah, okay, enough. YOu do all the work around here and I'm just a sex addicted lofer," Brooke said rolling her eyes. "So what did old 'Martha' have to say about this thing?"

"Oh it's a great cause, and you're right, all the Manhattan female muckie muck's will be there; Goldblum's wife, maybe even Senator Clinton. Martha Stewart had a segment on the hat she was having made for the thing."

"We're back to hats again?"

Cohen nod empathically.

"Oh this thing is _all_ about hats. I'm surprised girlfriend didn't explain that to you. The cost of the hat will make the ticket seem like drop in the bucket."

"A Macy's bargain basement number won't do the trick?"

"Not unless you want the muckie mucks to contribute to Jack's campaign just to save themselves the embarrassment of having a sitting DA they think is shopping at the thift store. No, we're talking custom made numbers. Check out this website when you get a chance," he said as he scribbled on a sheet of note paper. "You know, you could always just send a contribution and give them some lame excuse about having murderers to put in prison."

"No, I'll go," she said as she picked up and scanned the invitation. "Although it is on a Wednesday."

Cohen watched with amusement as the EADA flipped through her day planner, frowning slightly as she exchanged glances between the planner and the invitation.

"Oh my God, you're not serious," Cohen said between chuckles; the amused sound seizing when his superior looked up and gave him a stare that gave him no doubt to the answer to his question. "Brooke, for God's sake do you really think Jack expects you to rearrange your trial schedule just to make an appearance at a glorified high society luncheon?"

"You said yourself-"

"since when did what _I _say _matter_," he sputtered. "In that case, remember that bit about you having murderers to put in prison? That wasn't just a gag, you know."

Brooke started to respond when Sam Prescott slipped in beside Cohen and gave his ex-wife an inquiring look.

"Problem at the Exec meeting?"

"No problem at all," Brooke responded as Cohen rolled his eyes at her before facing the acting DA. "Jake and I were just discussing a minor scheduling problem. It's nothin' for you to worry your pretty little head about darlin'."

Cohen lowered his eyes as Prescott's eyes widen almost as much as his jaw dropped. After the ADA made a vague excuse to leave the room, the DA closed the door and shook his head.

"Feelin' a little… rambunctious… today are we," he asked as he leaned back against the door.

"Given the tension that's been between us as of late, I thought a little levity would lighten the mood," Brooke remarked with the faintest hint of a smile while she slipped the invitation back into its envelope. "I didn't expect you back from court until this afternoon. Have a seat and I can give you the highlights from the Exec meeting, if you have the time?"

"I can make the time," Prescott replied as he moved towards the desk.

As he listened to the recap of the meeting Prescott occasionally nodded and eventually reached for a pen from the inside pocket of his black suit jacket. Frowning slightly, he pulled a piece of paper from the small pad by Brooke's in tray when his eyes fell upon the invitation's envelope.

Brooke looked up from the legal pad she had been referring to as she spoke and followed Prescott's inquiring glance.

"Going through someone's mail _is_ a federal offense Mr. Former Federal Prosecutor," she remarked snidely as she slipped the black rimmed glasses from her nose.

"Ever hear of the plain view exception, Madam Prosecutor," he said with a wink. "'Sides I don't have to open this to know what it is. Danielle has one of these sitting on the coffee table at home. Here tell the hat she's buyin' for this thing is gonna set her back the equivalent of my monthly pay check. You thinkin' about goin' to this thing?"

"Planned on it until I looked at my trial schedule," she said frankly. "Seems like a good cause."

"Seems like a good place for the new DA's wife to be seen, is what you really mean," he said with enough certainty to make Brooke set her jaw in annoyance. "Now honey, I'm not sayin' that's a bad thing. I'm just sayin' this sort of thing will bore a woman like you too tears."

"A woman like me? You just said Danielle plans to-"

"Now, don't go gettin' all offended," he said with genuine concern. "I just meant Danielle makes a livin' listenin' to people tell tall tales. All defense attorney's do. You however, make a livin' pokin' holes in those tales."

"Well, it's academic now," she said with a sigh as she took the envelope from him and tossed it into the can beside her desk. "Obviously the Spanelli double homicide takes priority over an afternoon in Central Park."

"Tell ya what," Prescott said thoughtfully as he reached downward. "You manage to get the SOB to plead out and name his accomplice and I'll handle whatever takes the Spanelli's place on your calendar."

"Is that some sort of _dare_, counselor," Brooke asked with a gleam in her eye. A gleam that hadn't been seen since she had agreed to the abortion.

Prescott gave her a single nod as he dropped the envelope onto her desk.

"Call it a motivator," he said with a wink as he started towards the door.


	28. Chapter 28

Jack McCoy nodded solemnly as Cutter and Rubirosa finished detailing the latest information Lupo and Bernard had found in connection with _The People of New York v Edward Green_.

"And Green still won't explain anything? Not anything about this phone call he made to this April Lennen's home in Jersey City the night of the murder," he asked as he wearily rubbed his eyes.

"Not a word," Cutter replied candidly. "Jack I don't know what to do here. I mean, I've done some checking on the woman. Yes, by all accounts she's led an uneventful life since she started working at the school district. No contact with Detective Green that we can find until that phone call. Yet, when I looked through some of the records she'd been responsible for…I'm having our forensic accounts verify what I saw…but it looks to me like she's been cooking the books. She works in the accounting office. She has access to funds-"

"So you think she's embezzling from the district," McCoy said thoughtfully as let his glasses dangle from his fingers. "Any way Bunny Singer could have known that?"

Rubirosa shrugged here shoulders as she and Cutter exchanged glances.

"Bernard and Lupo are still looking for a connection. But whether they'll find it before closing arguments…"

"Threaten to indict her," the DA said with a sigh.

"Jack, we don't have enough to get an-," Cutter began.

"If you want to get anything out of Green, you better convince him it's not just his neck on the line anymore," McCoy explained as he stood and reached for the suit jacket on the back of his chair. "If you can convince him he's not the only one facing a murder charge, maybe you can convince Green to open up in order to protect this April Lennen."

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Across the street from the building that housed the offices of the district attorney, Brooke McCoy smiled uneasily at her companion as the waiter removed the last of their dinner dishes.

"Can I interest either of you in dessert," the waiter inquired.

After they each declined the young man's offer, Brooke took a moment to place a to go order before the waiter disappeared towards the kitchen.

"I can't believe he's not here yet. When I talked to Jack it was almost seven. His senior prosecutor had just walked into his office," Brooke explained to the silver haired gentleman. "Joe, I'm really sorry. Obviously, something must have come up-"

Joe Fontana waved her explanation aside as he gave her a reassuring smile and reached for his cappuccino.

"I just had a wonderful meal with a lovely, intelligent lady. What is there to apologize for," he said with a smile just before he saw an attractive and obviously irate, African American gentleman enter the café.

Detective Ed Green spotted Fontana almost immediately. Calling to his former partner as he crossed the room, Green's eyee widen when he realized who Fontana's dinner companion was.

"Joe. There's only one way Lupo or the L T could now about April… Mrs. McCoy?"

"Detective," Brooke responded as she moved to the other side of the booth. "You're just in time for dessert."

"Hum, actually I need to speak to Joe for a moment. In private," Green responded awkwardly while he remained standing. "When I called the office, Monique said you had just left for dinner. I didn't realize-"

"Ed, just have a seat and relax," Fontana interjected smoothly. "I told you when we talked, I wouldn't go looking to break any confidences. But when your friends came to me, I wasn't about to keep quiet and let you go to jail for a crime I know you didn't commit."

"Damn Joe, I didn't want her involved," Green hissed as he reluctantly took a seat across from Fontana. "It's not her fight, it's mine."

"Then there shouldn't be a problem with anyone asking the lady a few questions," Fontana said firmly as the waiter returned with Brooke's order. "Now, why don't you take Brooke's suggestion and look at the menu. If you don't want a cannoli, the pasta primavera is almost as good as-"

"Just bring me whatever you have on tap," Green told the waiter and grew silent as he looked first with annoyance at Fontana and then with sudden understanding as he looked from the former detective to the wife of the district attorney. "McCoy? Joe, you went to McCoy about April?"

"Ed just-"

"Damn it man! It's one thing to talk to some newbie in homicide like Lupo that the L T can rein in or even a member of the rat squad like Bernard, but McCoy? He'll have her half way to Bedford Hills on some triumphed up indictment before-"

"Jack McCoy is good, but not _that_ good, detective," Brooke countered bluntly. "Whatever his personal feelings, I can assure you my husband can't just snap his fingers and make an indictment fly, even to help a cop who doesn't want to be helped. If your friend winds up in prison I'll because of whatever evidence it is you're so anxious to hide has come to the surface."

"No offense intended, but lady I've seen what Jack McCoy can do in a courtroom," Green replied with equal force as he turned his attention back to Fontana. "So have you, Bro. Man Joe, I thought I could trust you. Maybe that was my first mistake."

"Your first mistake was not being straight with Lt. Van Buren. Your second was not being straight with my ADA's," Jack McCoy added as came up to the booth. "Whatever you're hiding detective, now's the time-"

"Save for the first timer's McCoy," Green interjected; barely controlling his anger. "I've heard this song too many times. Leave her alone. April had nothing to do with the shooting."

"Then why did you call her just minutes before-"

"I didn't come down here to make a statement, counselor," Green snapped as threw down some money and stood. "I came down here to see an old friend. Or at least someone I _thought_ was a friend."

"I'm sorry Joe," McCoy began as Fontana waved his apology aside and moved to catch up with the angry detective.

"I could ask the waiter to bring you a plate," Brooke said quietly as she slid the take out box across the table while McCoy took Fontana's seat."But somehow I suspect your appetite isn't what it was a few minutes ago."

"I can't believe Green' s not only going to throw his career away, but that he's willing to go to prison for a woman," he mumbled as he glanced around the room looking for the waiter.

"Not everyone is a difficult to play as you are Jack," Brooke said somberly. "Love means different things to different people."

"When a woman is willing to let you do time for a crime she committed…or at least had a hand in planning… I'd hardly call that undying devotion. Certainly not love," he replied shortly before giving the waiter his order for a scotch.

"I know better than to ask you what your detectives have dug up when we're talking about an open case, but judging by the look on your face, it's obviously not enough to save Green," she said as she reached for his hand. "Jack, if Green isn't willing to help himself there's only so much you can do. You know that."

McCoy nodded as the waiter wordlessly set a glass in front of him and departed. As much as he knew Brooke was right, the DA still couldn't shake the feeling there was something he was missing; something that would hopefully come out the next day when Cutter and Rubirosa met with Green, his attorney, and surprise guest April Lennen to put into play the bluff McCoy had suggested.

"I know my limitations," he began and stopped short to give Brooke his most intimidating stare as she unsuccessfully tried to stifle a snicker. "You find that funny?"

"Yes," she shot back definitely; feeling anything but intimidated. "Sorry Jack, but boundaries, limitations, those aren't words I automatically associate with you."

"Neither did I, until this damned promotion," he began as a muffled ring tone sounded from his coat pocket. "What now," he mumbled as he pulled the thin black phone out and glanced at the display.

"Cutter?"

"No," he said in a tone that held a faint note of regret. "Petrovsky."

"Judge Petrovsky," Brooke said as he opened the phone.

"All I can say is if Lena's calling at this hour, Casey Novak just made her third and final strike."


	29. Chapter 29

When she recieved the phone call from her ex-husband Judge Elizabeth Donnelly could tell the defeated weariness in his voice wasn't just due to the latness of the hour. Donnelly couldn't say she was surprised, not after having lunch with fellow Judge, Lena Petrosky.

The district attorney had wanted to come over that night to discuss the ADA they had in common, but Donnelly had put him off, citing the fact she was expecting her company any minute. Given the confidential nature of what McCoy wanted to discuss, ithey both agreed it would be better for him to meet her at the courthouse in the morning, where they could talk without interruption.

The first think Donnelly did after Captain Donald Cragen unlocked her front door was to give him a surprisingly intense hug. The second thing she did was to sit him down and tell him about the mess his soon to be former ADA for the SVU had gotten herself into.

"If McCoy dumps this in your lap, you won;t have a choice; you'llhave file charges against her," Cragen said with regret after hearing a story dectectives Benson and Stabler had already hinted at during the course of guarded conversation that abruptly stopped once the detectives realized there superior was within ear shot. "You're an officer of the court. You're hands are tied, Liz."

"Damn Jack," Donnelly said softly as she reached for her drink. "One of the reasons I accepted my judgeship was that I got tired of doing Arthur's dirty work. I sure as hell don't want to do Jack's. My God Don, I'm not even Casey's bureau chief anymore."

"No, you're not. But you are her friend, Liz. Maybe Jack thinks the blow will be softer coming from you."

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"Casey has life has been that job for almost a decade. Nothing will soften losing her license Jack," Donnelly shot back without pretense hours later after her husband said almost the exact words her lover had used, while crossing sheepishly from the doorway to a seat across from her desk.

"She blatantly ignored the rules of discovery," McCoy retorted, with defensiveness that surprised the judge. "The Butler rules are clear. Novak knew the DNA samples were tainted… that defense counsel would shoot them down the second they learned that and she's be forced to withdraw the charges; that's why she played that little game in Petrvosky's chambers. Telling Lena the test results weren't completed yet after presenting the evidence! What kind of fool..did she really think a woman who's been on the bench as long as Lena Petrovsky wouldn't notice she was being spoon fed crap?"

"Oh, you mean like the crap I'm being spoon fed right now," Donnelly bellowed back with a skeptical stare.

"I'm doing no such thing," McCoy snapped with genuine sincerity.

"The hell you're not. Jack,you want me to not only file the charges, but to tell her she's probably going to lose her license to practice?"

"It will be a year at the most."

"Oh will make it so much easier for her to hear," Donnelly replied with her legendary sarcasm. "She loses her livelihood, her professional standing and reputation, but it's only for a year? Come on Jack. God, when she told me she was thinking of going into corporate practice I told her she'd be trading in making a difference for making a buck. Going from throwing rapists in prison, to throwing in with Wall Street. My God, that's almost as arrogant as what you're trying to pull now."

"I warned her when she decided to play defense attorney a few months ago, if she didn't behave I'd have her license," he said with stubbornness that sounded shallow, while his voice boomed. "I can't have my prosecutors picking and choosing what evidence rules they plan to follow and I can't have them scuffling back and forth across the aisle!"

Donnelly met his wide eyed glare with one of her own as she leaned across the desk.

"Do I need to recite the names of the cases you played by your own rules on when I was you assistant or should I stick with cases from the last decade," she sneered.

"I may have been close to the line a few times, but I was prosecuting serial killers and –"

"And Casey was trying to keep a brutal rapist from going free," she responded; her volume matching his. "A rapist who happened to be a cop."

"I never tried to get tainted evidence passed a judge," he barked.

"Only tainted witnesses," she countered hotly.

"Fine," he bellowed as he snatched his satchel from the floor.

"Fine," she bellowed back as she plopped down in her chair and snatched a file from the tray.

As she heard the door fly open she glanced up from the file and hesitated. Just before he cleared the archway, Donnelly heard her voice calling him back. McCoy swung around; at first impatient and annoyed. When he saw the reflective look on her face, he lowered his eyes and waited a few beats before meeting her gaze with a more composed look of resignation.

"The job is killing her Liz," McCoy said as he closed the office door. "I saw it when I dressed her down a few months ago. For her to pull a stint like this one… Even if I was willing to let this go with another reprimand, we both know Casey can't take much more of whatever is driving her."

"Jack, were talking about a sex crimes prosecutor with a seventy seven percent conviction rate," Donnelly replied softly as she leaned back in her chair. "You know what drives her. It's justice for the victims. You know when you work in sex crimes, the longer you stay the harder it is to maintain any real objectivity. It's almost impossible not to identify with the victims, especially for someone like Casey."

"You managed," he countered with a trace of a smile. "You not only were a remarkable prosecutor, you ran that bureau better than anyone before or since."

"Only because I knew when to get out," she said unpretentiously.

"Sometimes people need a nudge for their own good."

Donnelly sighed as she met the dark eyes that had softened as their voices had dropped in volume. She thought about her lunch date with Novak a few weeks before and knew McCoy was right. The dedicated prosecutor had looked fragile and strained. Novak had been distracted through the meal and no matter how hard Donnelly tried to turn the conversation from court and cases, Novak worked just as hard to bring it back to old cases and former victims.

"All right, Jack. You know I'm on the ABA's review board. I'll talk to Lena and get the transcripts of the case. If things are as blatant as you say, I'll have the charges filed before the end of business today."


	30. Chapter 30

After spending most of the day shuttling from the his office to City Hall, then 1 Police Plaza and then back to Hogan Place to perform Casey Novak's exit interview, Jack McCoy had decided to make a quick dash to his office to review phone messages and make a quick call to his wife, before heading a few floors down to attend the meeting he had been dreading the most all.

As he dialed Brooke McCoy's office number he frowned slightly when he realized he'd missed not one, but four calls from Governor Shalvoy. Just as he was about to hang up and return those calls, he found himself smiling at the gruff one word greeting that someone sounded more inviting coming from Brooke than it did coming from the DA.

"McCoy," Brooke said impatiently as she continued to type with the hand that wasn't holding the receiver. Her tone became much more hospitable when she heard her one word response echoed by the low, raspy voice on the other end. "Jack, I thought you had meetings all day. I didn't expect to hear from you until early this evening…,"Brooke glanced downward at the time display on the computer screen after he husband mentioned the lateness of the hour. "Oh, I guess you're right on time then. Obviously, I'm running behind. Getting that plea out of Spanelli took longer than I anticipated… Hey, was there ever any doubt I'd get it?... Of course it's a done deal. He took fifteen to life contingent on his testifying against his accomplice… Down side is there's no way I'll make to home in time for dinner, so…," Brooke nodded solemnly as McCoy informed her of his next stop.

She knew how much it grieved McCoy to dismiss Casey Novak. Although Judge Donnelly had softened the blow by meeting with Novak earlier in the week, it was the DA who had to formally dismiss the senior ADA. McCoy had chosen to handle the matter in the most professional of ways by writing and sending Novak a formal letter of termination which gave Novak seventy two hours to remove her personal effects from the building. The grace period was to end that night and McCoy would be conducting the official exit interview prior to his meeting with the remainder of the sex crimes staff.

"…Come on Jack, don't play tough guy with me," Brooke continued after listening to his half hearted attempt to mask the apprehension he felt about his next task. "She gave you no choice but to terminate her. But I know you're going to enjoy going down their to perform that exit interview…Yeah, try telling that to someone who hasn't heard you rant about how unfair Branch was when he terminated Serena Southerlyn…I know, it's not the same thing, but I also know how you feel about losing a dedicated prosecutor, even if there's really no alternative… Look, I hate to cut this short, but the bad ass DA for Suffolk County just came in, so I better go," Brooke said as she raised her eyebrows at Sam Prescott who had just opened her door." Call me when you're done, all right?...I love you, too."

"Sorry to interrupt," Prescott remarked as he stood behind her skimming the half written document on her screen. "Just wanted to find out how much time you nailed Spanelli with before I head out."

"I just sealed the deal a half an hour ago," she said with surprise. "You already his lawyer accepted my offer?"

"Darlin', was there ever any doubt," he responded with a knowing smile while he moved to the seat across from her. "The only question in my mind was how low you'd go to get the accomplices name. Fifteen to life is about what I expected. From the looks of your draft, it sounds like you have evidence the accomplice was the one who pulled the trigger."

"Spanelli says the prints on the gun will confirm it. The detectives called just before Jack did. They found the murder weapon right where Spanelli said it was, so if the ballistics reports confirms what he told us the deals in place and the shooter will be doing twenty five to life for each of the three counts."

"It'll do Michael's heart a world of good when I tell him about it."

"You're on your way to see the boss?"

"That I am," Prescott said with a nod. "Danielle and I are takin' him to _The Chop House_ for dinner. It'll be the first time he's left the house since comin' home from the hospital, so I guess I better get a move on before he talks himself out of comin'," he said as he stood.

After goodnights had been exchanged, Prescott suddenly turned in the door way and lingered with a curious look in his eyes.

"Sam? Is there something else?"

"Just wondered if you were plannin' to take me up on that comp day I promised you if you pulled off the plea," he said with a chuckle. "You still considerin' attendin' that society bash?"

Brooke leaned back and eyed her former husband curiously. In truth, the last thing she wanted to do was spend an afternoon making polite but meaningless conversation with the wives of themovers and shakers of Manhattan's upper class. Yet, she already had missed more than one dinner with the governor and his wife that McCoy had been anxious for her to attend. Going to the annual fundraiser for the Central Park Conservancy would be a way to make up for those absences, as well as serve as a way for Brooke to make some in roads for her husband with Manhattan society's well heeled upper class,; roads that might later be valuable, should McCoy decide to run for re-election and need to seek backers.

"I've already bought my hat," she said smugly.

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Casey Novak took one last look around the office she had called her own for the last eight years. Everything that she had brought into the office was all eady boxed and piled on the dollie she had borrowed from the night custodian to haul the items down to her car. Just as she turned turn to leave, she saw it; a bit of blue peeking out from behind the door. She bent down and thoughtfully held the bright blue baseball cap and stared at the bold white lettering that spelled out the words '_Sex Crimes'_.

Tears she had held at bay for the last two hours … through the well wishes she'd relieved from various co-workers as she packed she packed up mementos and awards she had received over the course of her career in the DA's office… began to flow freely down her cheeks.

She knew Liz Donnelly had been right when she said Novak needed to 'do something else'. Novak herself had been considering a move out of the DA's office and into private practice just before the case that would end her career in the DA's office was dropped on her desk.

"Casey?"

Novak looked up passed the well polished shoes and navy blue trousers to find Mike Cutter offering her a hand. Hurriedly wiping the tears from her eyes, she let her friend help her to her feet as Cutter's free hand carefully closed her office door.

"I thought you were trying to plead out Ed Green upstairs," she asked as she turned and took a seat on the edge of what used to be her desk.

"It's over," the EADA replied as he moved beside her on the desk. "Green's off the hook. The killer just confessed."

"Good for Green."

"Not so good for his career though," Cutter commented with a shrug. "From the sounds of it, I wouldn't be surprised if he went home to write his resignation. Too much about his personal demons came out as a result of…," Cutter paused as he looked away from his friend and former team mate.

"Sounds like change is in the air," Novak said as she attempted to smile. "Come on Mike, I know you didn't mean anything."

"Still, not exactly showing my sensitive side bringing up-"

"Forget it," she said as she dropped the cap on his head. "Maybe you can pass this on to my replacement. Hopefully they'll have decent batting average."

"You know you can fight this Casey. Just because you-"

"To be honest Mike, I don't think I have another fight left in me," she candidly interjected. "After eight years of fighting the good fight, maybe I do need a break."

"Any immediate plans?"

"Just to get through this exit interview with McCoy with what's left of my pride," she said with a weak smile. "After that, I'm heading home to lick my wounds and figure put how to tell my parents I just pissed away a degree that my father spent a lifetime working overtime to pay for."

"You know whatever the review board decides, it won't be forever," Cutter began.

The two ADA's glanced towards the door when the quiet tap came. DA Jack McCoy peered in; giving his executive a mildly curious glance before nodding solemnly at Novak.

"Are you ready," McCoy asked with surprising compassion.

"Casey, I'd be happy to stay if-"

"Get out of here Mike," she said as she playfully punched his arm.

"I'll call you later, kiddo," Cutter said as he shot his boss a defiant glare before planting a kiss on Novak's forehead. "If you change your mind about that fight-"

"You'll be the first one I call," she replied as Cutter moved towards the older man.

McCoy glanced carefully around the office as Cutter closed the door behind him.

"Jack?"

"Just looking for that bat."

"Bat?"

"The one Cutter brought down with him so you should pulverized me with it if the mood struck you," he said with a shy half smile that gave the DA look of such uncharacteristic beigness that the former ADA couldn't help but smile back at him. "I hope you know firing you isn't something I'm enjoying Casey."

Novak nodded as McCoy took a seat across from her.

"I understand that, Jack. Trust me, you're safe in here. One attack in this office was one too many," she remarked.

McCoy's eyes softened as he recalled the brutal attack Novak had suffered years before at the hands an outraged brother of a rape victim. The attack had not only shocked the entire staff of the DA's office, it had lit a fire under then DA Arthur Branch to update the security system for the building as well.

"This job has cost you more than anyone ever expected you to pay, Casey."


	31. Chapter 31

After a week and a half of rushed 'good bye's' in the morning and passing like ships in the night in the late evening, both McCoy's made a concerted effort to be on time for their rendezvous a few blocks from the Suffolk county DA's office. Both Jack and Brooke had been looking forward to stealing a few minutes of 'alone' time before joining a selected few of Danielle Melnick's closest friends for the birthday bash her new husband had planned.

When Brooke McCoy entered the lounge of Brenan's Steakhouse she found her husband clad in his usual charcoal grey suit and deep conversation on his cell phone.

"Club soda and lemon," Brooke told the bartender as McCoy turned to mouth a silent greeting. Brooke gave him a smile as she planted a kiss on his recently shaved cheek and listened patiently as she waited for him to end the phone call.

By the time McCoy returned the cell phone to his jacket pocket Brooke was on her second glass of club soda.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to keep a lady waiting," she remarked with amusement.

"I am sorry, love. Cutter is still having trouble with the Munson case," he said in a tone low enough that Brooke found herself leaning close to hear him. "Looks like I'll have to call Donald Shalvoy in Albany again-"

"I didn't mean _me,_" she said as she tapped on her watch. "I meant Danielle. We're supposed to head over to the house in ten minutes and by the time we catch a cab-"

"How much is it going to cost me if I say I have to go back to Manhattan to deal with this mess and make that call?"

"You just came from Manhattan. Jack, you know Danielle is expecting you," she said as she shook her head. "Besides, it's been ages since we've spent a whole evening together. Is one night really going to make that much of a difference?"

"I have to catch Donald before he goes to DC and there's no way I can make that call without-"

"You really think owing that man another favor is such a great idea," Brooke asked with enough disapproval to cause her husband's jaw to stubbornly set.

"Do you think letting a murderer walk is a better idea," he countered as he drained the remaining scotch from his glass.

"If your lead prosecutor can't make the case without you selling your soul, maybe you need a new lead prosecutor," she said drily as McCoy paid the tab.

"Don't be so dramatic. This isn't a sign of any weakness on Mike's part. Besides, maybe you've forgotten who backed Arthur's decision to appoint me interim DA."

Brooke gave her husband a withering glance as she took his arm and started towards the exit. Once outside, Brooke walked him passed the cab stand and out to the deserted street.

"Look, I know you like the man Jack. But –"

"This isn't about liking or disliking Donald Shalvoy, Brooke. It's about trying to do my job. Maybe if you manage to make to the next party function he's attending, you'll finally meet the Shalvoy's and see what decent people they both are."

"I'm going to that luncheon for the park in a few days. I'm sure Rita Shalvoy will be attending as well," she said wearily. "I'm not saying they aren't good people. I'm saying you did your job just fine without Governor Shalvoy's help. I doubt you becoming DA has changed things so much that you have to rely on him now."

McCoy looked down at his wife and shrugged his shoulders.

"Being a prosecutor isn't the same thing as being the DA. Don't worry so much. I know what I'm doing," he said as he raised his arm to flag the cab that had just rounded the corner. "I know we haven't had any time to ourselves since we got back from Europe. I've cleared my schedule for the end of next week when Becky and Charlie come into town. I promise we'll have more time-"

"Jack, I don't mean to put any pressure on you," she said as they slipped into the cab. "You're not the only one who hasn't been home much."

McCoy gave the cabby the address for the Prescott house and turned to his wife.

"The Spanelli plea was a big win for you. It's good to see you enjoying you job again. I haven't forgotten that being a prosecutor isn't a nine to five job. I just-"

"I know you're anxious for me to meet the Shalvoy's."

"Only because Donald supported me when every other politician in the state seemed to want to crucify me."

"Now who's being dramatic," Brooke said with a chuckle as she ran a hand down his cheek.

McCoy chuckled as well before kissing her lightly on the lips as the cab began to come to a stop.

"Tell Danielle to stop by my office next week and I'll make it up to her. I'll make it up to you tonight, when you get home," he said as he kissed her again as he slipped the small velvet box from his pocket and into her hand.

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Danielle Melnick Prescott carefully removed the gleaming gold chain that held the elegant pendant watch at its center. As 'oh's' and 'ah's' from the baker's dozen of friends her husband had gathered for her fiftieth birthday subsided, Melnick removed the small card from the velvet box. As she scanned the handwritten well wishes from her long time friend and occasional nemesis, a merry burst of laughter escaped from her lips before she read the words aloud.

"Dearest Danielle: The hands of time stand still for no one. No matter how compelled you are to argue, father time will have what I've never had during a conversation with you…the last word. Wishing you all the best as you reach the half century mark. Jack & Brooke," Melnick recited as she turned to the auburn haired woman standing across from her beside Jake Cohen.

"Hey, I had no prior knowledge of the contents of that card," Brooke said as she raised a hand. "I just helped Jack pick out the pendant. He wrote the card all on his own."

"No wonder that coward high tailed it back to Manhattan with some lame excuse about a case. Well, at least you have good taste in jewelry, Brooke. This is lovely, thank you."

Brooke nodded as Melnick picked up the next wrapped package on the coffee table and the attention shifted once more. Brooke finished the last of her champagne and glanced around what used to be her living room, with a sense of approval and a lesser sense of regret.

The formerly pale green walls were now a fresh coat of nutmeg and the walnut flooring she and her first husband had spent their first summer in the house installing were covered by newly laid lemon yellow carpet. The only signs left of her ownership of the house were the stain glass windows and the large walnut dining table that she had noticed earlier when the group had sat down to the southern fest Prescott had prepared for his wife's birthday dinner.

"Your glass is empty," Cohen said softly as he guided her discreetly passed the small crowd and back into the kitchen. Once alone, Cohen reached for one of the open bottles in the ice chest on the floor. "So what's really going on?"

"You're offering me a drink," Brooke said with mock surprise while dodging the question she knew she couldn't answer. "What happened to 'come back dried out and ready to work'."

"You have and you are," the dapper man in the smart black suit and pale pink shirt replied smoothly as he filled their champagne flutes. "This is your second glass in almost two hours. I think you soberity is safe. Now, are you going to tell me why Jack not only let one of his closest friends down by not being here to celebrate a milestone in her life, but let you down as well by letting you come back here alone after hurricane Danielle whirled through the house you spent more than a decade making your own?"

"It really is a case and you know that's all I can say," she said before moving back to the dining table across from the kitchen and scanning the remnants of the homemade rum cake.

"Jack wouldn't come all the way out here just to turn around again unless-"

"Jake, if I could talk about it, you know I'd tell you," she said as she slipped a small piece of cake onto to a plate. "All I can say is it was unavoidable and he'll make it up to both Danielle and myself, so let it go will you?"

"You two are doing all right?"

"It's hard to find time to fight when I'm either here in Islip or Jack is on his way to or from Albany," she replied as she smiled at his concerned tone. "Hey, have I ever told you that you're pretty in pink," she continued as her smile grew while she aimed her fork at his mouth.

Cohen gave her a skeptical glance as he savored the bit of cake before washing it down with the champagne.

"It looks like you plan to dance around any and all questions tonight."

"Not at all, just questions relating to the Manhattan DA. I'm practicing for all those 'no comments' I'm going to say at that silly luncheon next week," she said smugly. "Besides, you haven't told me anything about your sordid personal life since I got back from Europe."

"Nothing interesting about an empty bed and me crying myself to sleep over a stack of case files," he said with a shrug.

"Jake, it's been months since you and William called it quits. Don't tell me he hasn't tried to reconcile after that stunt he pulled?"

Brooke could see the wheels of thought turning as her best friend silently eyed her over the rim of his champagne glass. She knew Cohen had been licking his wounds since the New York Congressman had admitted to an affair during their relationship several months earlier. While Cohen had gone through the ritual of late nights in Manhattan and a few short lived rebound one nighters, Brooke knew her friend was far from over the hurt his last love had inflicted on him. If it wasn't for the fact she knew the two term Congressman William Davenport had close ties to the governor of New York, she never would have brought up the name of son of a bitch that had betrayed Cohen's trust.

"Why would you think I'd even pick up the phone if…," Cohen began before he voice faltered and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Jack's been spending time in Albany has he? Brooke, what exactly are you after and what-?"

"Hey you two, the birthday girl sent me out here to tell you two not to finish off the last of that cake," Sam Prescott said as he entered the room. After taking a quick glance over his shoulder her former husband slipped an arm around Brooke's shoulder to draw her close enough that his whisper could be heard. "Listen, Mal…about the remodel…"

"Sam it's your house…yours and Danielle's now… she can paint the walls florescent pink for all I care," Brooke said with a chuckle as she ignored Cohen's inquiring stare.

"Tell her about the roses," Cohen injected smugly as a form of what he knew was childish, but well deserved pay back for his friend's failure to respond to any of his inquires thus far.

Brooke could see Prescott's face pale as he shot Cohen a dagger look before meeting Brooke's wide eyed stare.

"My roses? The roses that took first place in the county horticulture exhibit," she gasped as she set her plate down and moved towards the French doors that led to the patio.

"Damn it Jake, what'd ya go and open that can of worms? You better stick around to hold Mal back when Danielle comes waltzin' in here any second," Prescott hissed as he started after his former wife, before Cohen reached for his sleeve and whispered a request before letting Prescott follow her through the doors.

When he caught up with her, Brooke was staring down at freshly planted rows of an assortment of herbs and vegetables where rose bushes had once stood.

"Mal, the tenants had neglected them for so long that-"

"You let her plant _radishes_ in _my_ rose garden? Bastard," she said with such dramatic fervor, both of them began to chuckle. "You know Samuel, it's one thing to buy me out on the house…even for you to turn up alive after five years…but this? What kind of man did I marry in the first place?"

"A low life weasel, I'm sure," he responded with obvious relief. "You're really not upset?"

"I'm not thrilled, but I'm sure I'll get over it," she said with a sigh. "What happened to that instigator, Cohen?"

"He went back to keep Danielle busy while I find out exactly what you want to know about Donald Shalvoy."

"I want to know if he can be trusted," she shot back with candor that startled him.

"Does this sudden interest in Shalvoy have anything to do with Jack and-"

"Just call me a concerned citizen," she said in a tone that told him pushing her would be futile. "You've met him, Sam. What's your take on the man?"

Prescott rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he pondered the question. In the time he had been acting as Suffolk County's DA, Prescott had met the man twice. Both meetings were swift and uneventful, but by talking with some of the more senior DA's in the state, Prescott had learned that Shalvoy had a reputation for playing favorites and discarding them once he deemed them no longer useful.

Prescott also knew Jack McCoy was the governor's latest faired boy.


	32. Chapter 32

When Jack McCoy turned his key in the lock, it was well after midnight. Assuming his wife would have long since fallen asleep, McCoy opened the door with extra care. Much to his surprise, he found not only the lights were on in the living area but his wife, sitting clad in her bathrobe, hunched over the computer.

"Danielle says you're in for it when _your _next milestone rolls around, "Brooke said without turning away from the screen.

After an annoyingly unproductive twenty minutes during which time the verbal sparring between herself and he ex-husband was finally interrupted by his current wife, Brooke had feigned a sudden headache and swiftly caught the next train home.

Given the fact Prescott's input on Donald Shalvoy consisted of _"...A- 'Jack's a big boy, darlin', let the man handle the likes of Shalvoy'. B- 'If you're not gonna stay out of it, be damn careful where you trend. If not for your sake; for Jack's";_Brooke's first instinct was to do a little research of her own.

"You should have gone to bed," McCoy said as he dropped his satchel and leather jacket on the sofa before moving towards the computer. Brooke promptly cleared the screen and stood to give him a hug. "It's almost one. You've got to be beat…too beat to be working on anything for the office…"

"I was just surfing the web until you drug your sorry self home," she said with a playful grin as she ran a hand over his cheek. "You did say something about making up for running out on me. I figured I'd stay up so I could hold you to that, counselor."

"I'm sorry, honey. How much _more_ is it going to cost me if I tell you I'll be doing good to get my jeans off before I hit the sheets," he said with a weary smile.

"The_ real_ question is how much did it cost you to get Shalvoy's help with Mike's case," she countered. "I assume you were able to reach the great man?"

"I sure I'm not the only DA in the state to ask the man for help on occasion," McCoy remarked with a trace of annoyance as he turned and started towards the bedroom.

Brooke shook her head as she bent down quickly to shut the computer down. Armed with recollections of her husband's last close encounter with an elected official, she turned off the living area lights and followed him.

Before she could get the name 'Melanie Carver' out of her mouth, Brooke found any desire to provoke her husband stifled by a more compelling desire to lean against the bookcase and take in the endearing sight of the unstoppable DA laying dead to the world on the center of the bed; shoes on, head drooping to one side and glasses dangling from the front of the dress shirt pocket.


	33. Chapter 33

As she scanned the sea of women sporting elegant and costly hats of all shapes and sizes, Brooke Ann Malinowski Prescott McCoy knew she was well out of her comfort zone.

Being the daughter of a Suffolk county sanitation worker and a telephone company operator, Brooke knew all about hard work and the value of a dollar. Standing around in the middle of a work week drinking two hundred dollar a bottle champagne in a Chanel suit and a Jill Henning hat made her feel more like a little girl playing dress up, than the wife of the current Manhattan DA.

As much as she wanted to successfully play the role of supportive mate, Brooke found herself hoping the photos of her arrival to the annual Frederick Law fundraiser for Central Park would be long forgotten, once the wives of the mayor and governor were viewed by the various magazine and newspaper editors.

When she had made a reluntant visit to Jill Henning's Fifth Avenue shop, a journey Danielle Melnick formed her that was 'a ritual for any woman even_ thinking_ about attending the 'hat' luncheon', Brooke had been amazed and appalled by the wide selection of floral centerpieces for the head that adored the legendary Park Avenue hat shop. Each item seemed to jump in price with its size.

The shop's manager had been surprisingly polite and equally candid when Brooke admitted her discomfort at both the four digit pricing of many of the headpieces, as well as her reluctance stand out in an over done head piece. Brooke had been equally suprised to find out the chain's owner had called the Manhattan shop and left instructions to _"give her son's father-in-law's wife whatever she desired, at cost."_

"Come on now Brooke, you didn't pay the cost of admission to just stand in a corner and hide. You have to get out there and mingle if you want to get Jack noticed by this crowd."

Brooke turned and gave Danielle Melnick a relieved smile.

"Wow Danielle. I thought with all that pro bono work you do, you'd be the last person to spend a arm and a leg on something as frivolous as a hat," Brooke remarked as she studied the sophisticated wide brimmed hat that coordinated perfectly with the blue-green suit and contrasting yellow-green silk blouse the other woman wore. "Although, I must say you wear it well, counselor."

"It's worth it to make connections for Legal Aides next benefit," Melnick said with a savvy smile as the pair moved towards the buffet table. "Don't look so anxious Brooke. You look like a red headed Audrey Hepburn in that black and white number and the hat…well…I wish_ I_ had a step daughter married to Jill Henning's son. Maybe I could afford –"

"It was the least expensive hat in the store,' Brooke began self consciously. "Even with Jill's more than generous offer, there's no way the wife of a public servant should be buying thousand dollar-"

"Brooke, relax. I'm not going to alert the state accounting office to start an investigation into Jack's financials or anything. Most of the women here are in public, life either through their jobs or their husbands. Buying a hat is hardly a miss use of public funds," Melnick said with a reassuring smile. "If you don't lighten up though, these society women will smell blood in the water and eat you alive."

"Got it," she said with a nod as she handed Melnick a plate and gazed at the assortment of finger food that ran down the mile long table. "My God Danielle, you could feed every homeless person in Manhattan with this spread."

"Which is why we can't let it go to waste," Melnick remarked before cooling her tone. "I saw Jack yesterday for that belated birthday lunch. He mentioned Becky and her husband were in from Europe last week."

"Yes," Brooke began cautiously upon noting the sudden frost in the other woman manner.

"Too bad she's taking that job in San Diego. I know Jack was really looking forward to having her back home."

"At least the job is only for six months," Brooke responded as the pair moved towards one of the empty tables on the greenway with their plates brimming with food. "Apparently the plan is for Charlie to find them a rental and set up house here in Manhattan while Becky does the photo shoot on the immigration story. She should be back in Manhattan in time to deliver the baby."

"And you feel emotionally stable enough to deal with a new baby so soon after terminating your pregnancy?"

Brooke held Melnick's inquiring gaze as she carefully set her fork down. Just the mention of the abortion served to pain and shock her as much as if Melnick had suddenly slapped her. Brooke deliberately waited to respond until after a passing waiter refilled both the champagne flutes and their water glasses.

"I didn't realize my emotional stability was something you concerned yourself with Danielle," she replied as she picked up her glass of water.

"It is when it concerns the way you treat my husband," Melnick said bluntly as she leaned forward. "Do you have any idea how much you hurt that man before you and Jack went to Europe? Do you even care, Brooke?"

"Of course I care," Brooke said before lowering her gaze. As she stared down at the plate filled with delicacies that cost as much as she usually spent on a week's worth of groceries she recalled the stricken look on her ex-husband's face when she declared not only that any remaining love she felt for him no longer existed, but her hatred of a man who had made the ultimate sacrifice to keep her safe. "I was an idiot, Danielle. I've already tried to make it right with Sam. I don't know what else I can do except to tell you how ashamed I am that I could even think such unforgiveable things, much less say them to Sam."

Melnick nodded curtly as she toyed with the items on her plate. Brooke knew for the well known defense attorney to be exuding such venom…especially in such a public setting… Melnick's protective instincts were on high alert. Brooke could hardly fault the woman. In fact, Brooke had been more than a little surprised Melnick hadn't taken her aside at her birthday party to confront her.

"So there won't be a repeat performance," Melnick pressed. "You know, despite the fact you verbally kicked him in the gut, he'll probably do it again, Brooke. Especially with you two working together."

"Do what again?"

"Try to protect you, whether you deserve his protection or not. Sam's been through too much to change. My God, he gave up five years of his life just to keep you safe," Melnick said with a grimace. "Whether you're married or not, he'll never let any harm come to you if he can stop it, Brooke."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"Of course it does," she said with a sigh. Melnick took a few thoughtful bites of potato salad and shook her head as her expression softened. "It bothers me, but not enough to let it come between us. He told me about that sentimental journey you two took a few months ago. That bothered me more and I still didn't leave him."

Brooke could feel her jaw slacken as she remembered the handful of times she and her ex-husband exchanged memories and kisses just after she found out she was pregnant. The fact their muddled attempt to understand and deal with the myriad of unresolved emotions between them had led to both of their spouses to be hurt made her cringe with even more shame.

"We both used bad judgment. I won't insult your intelligence and say it didn't mean anything. It did, but not what you might think. Danielle, you have every right to take that glass of champagne and throw it in my face right now-"

"If I thought you were playing games with Sam or Jack I'd do that and more," Melnick said with a low laugh. "Look Brooke. I know you and Jack made an impossible decision. Maybe Sam should have stayed out of it…maybe he would have if you two hadn't….anyway, it's done. I don't want him hurt again. Under any circumstances."

"I said those things under extreme emotional stress."

"_Any_ circumstance Brooke," Melnick said with surprising force.

"Since getting pregnant again is an impossible; I can't image there being anything Sam could involve himself in now that would cause me to turn into a psychotic bitch again. I can assure you there won't be a repeat performance," she said with somberness that made her companion chuckle.

"Then let's start doing what we came here to do and mix and mingle. You know Brooke; it could be a lot worse. Not that I _like_ the fact my husband felt compelled to kiss you, but you and Sam act like you started some torrid affair. A few kisses I can forgive, but an affair… well, it takes a certain kind of woman to look the other way when her husband takes another woman to bed."

"The kind of woman neither of us are," Brooke said as she and Melnick exchanged knowing smiles just before Rita Shalvoy came into Melnick's view behind Brooke.


	34. Chapter 34

"Your Dad is booked on the eleven ten flight out of JFK. He has a meeting with the Governor before he heads out in the morning," Brooke began as she balanced her cell phone one shoulder and used her hands to continue dicing vegetables for the salad she was preparing. With a low laugh she automatically nodded and almost sent the phone to the floor. "Damn it. Sorry Becky, let me put this on speaker...All right, what did you say?…Yes, he _does_ seem to be spending a lot of time with him. The last few weeks, I think your Dad has seen Don Shalvoy more than he's seen me…Maybe it's a good thing," Brooke said with sincerity she didn't feel. "After all if Jack runs next year, he's going to need supporters. It's not like the mayor and the attorney general have made his job easy… I know he's looking forward to seeing you too… Hey, I know you have to go but remember; it's only a story, Becky. Don't take any risks with you or the baby trying to be a candidate for photo journalist of the year… Yes, I'll tell him to call you as soon as he lands in L.A….Love you too," she said just before the front door opened and she gave her husband a welcoming grin. "Oh my God! You're really here and it's not even near midnight! Did the crime wave end? Did the criminal courts building burn down?"

"All right, enough wise ass," Jack McCoy said as he set his helmet and satchel beside the coat rack. "Maybe I should to remind _you_ how many nights you've called in the last month to tell me you and Jake were working until the tee hours in Islip."

"That was work. You sir, have kept me alone in our bed until the wee hours while you gallivant around the state attending benefits and gala's with the Shalvoy entourage," she said as she lightly smacked the hand he attempted to slip into the salad bowl. "Hey, no snacking on the greens. Why don't you check the broiler? The steaks should be about ready."

"You're the one that told me if I plan to run next year –"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, blame it on the long suffering wife," she joked as she waited for her husband to slip by her with a platter of steaks before she opened the microwave door to pull out two steaming potatoes. "If you want your first home cooked meal since Danielle's party you'll admit you've done more smoozing in the last week than Senator Clinton has all year."

"If it wasn't for the fact I haven't eaten in almost twelve hours, I'd tell you what an exaggeration that is," he replied as he moved from the bar to the bistro table with two glasses of wine in hand. "I will tell you, Donald asked again why he hasn't met my new wife."

"Did you tell him convicting murderers takes priority over cocktails with the governor," she said as she planted a kiss on his lips before sitting beside him.

"If I have to tell him that again, I'll be tempted to set it to music," he said with sarcasm that wasn't lost on his wife. After meeting the challenging gaze she gave him, McCoy lowered his gaze and softened his tone. "I apologize. I know you've been busy. Let's start over and enjoy the time we have tonight."

"Agreed. You know, if I didn't have a closing to give I'd try to maneuver some time off to join you in California," Brooke said in an equally accommodating tone. "I'm going to miss you, even if we seem to only meet over the bathroom sink these days."

McCoy nodded in agreement as he poured some dressing on his salad. Even if he wouldn't admit it, he knew his wife had a point. Between the daily rounds of new cases and crises in the DA's office and the increasing social demands of being an elected official, McCoy had been spending more time from home than he had anticipated. While his wife had been more than patient about the changes that were occurring in their life, he knew being away from home was one of the things that had helped to weaken his previous marriages.

"I know Becky would enjoy it if you came along," he said softly as he reached for her hand. "I know I'd enjoy it even more."

"I really wish I could," Brooke said with genuine sincerity.

The conference McCoy was scheduled to attend was for the Drug Enforcement Task Force. The task force would be addressing issues that had long been of interest to both McCoy's. Had her ex-husband not been planning on representing her office at the gathering of law enforcement leaders throughout the nation, Brooke would have lobbied for the job. But with the acting DA attending, she knew someone had to stay behind and monitor the day to day workings of the office.

"I know. It's just as well. I'll be stuck in meetings from eight to five anyway. Maybe when I get back your trial will be over and you'll be more inclined join the Shalvoy's for dinner next time they're in down. You mentioned meeting Rita at that luncheon last month. Did she mention she used to be a victims advocate years before she and Don went to Albany?"

Brooke nodded as she brought the glass of merlot to her lips. The attractively polished woman Danielle Melnick had introduced her to, had gone out of her way to be charming and friendly at the Central Park luncheon. If anyone asked Brooke why she felt so wary of the woman who had been an advocate for numerous worthy causes, including victims of violent crimes, Brooke would have been at a loss to explain why.

Rita Shalvoy seemed to be everything the wife of a public figure should be; attractive, confident, and passionate about her beliefs, as well as her husband. Yet, in the short time she spent with the woman, Brooke sensed there was more to the woman than she could see…more and not necessarily in keeping with what Rita projected on the surface.

"Yes. Not only did Rita mention her good works, but Danielle said she met Rita through her work with shelter services," Brooke said as she shifted uncomfortably.

"What's wrong," McCoy asked as he frowned slightly at his wife's obvious concern.

"Something...I just can't put my figure on it."

"You know what I think it is," McCoy said as he pushed his plate to the side and rested his chin in his hands."You and I both come from working class backrounds. It hasn't been easy for me feel comfortable moving in some of the circles a district attorney finds himself-"

"You think I'm a snob," Brooke sputtered with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

"I know_ I_ am," McCoy said in such an unrepentant tone Brooke laughed outright, which caused her husband to exchange his annoyed scowl for a slowly developing smile. "I'm the son of an Irish cop who had an eighth grade education. I was raised to not only be suspicions of members of the upper class; I was raised to despise them. I wouldn't be surprised if you were raised the same way."

"My mother said 'turn the other cheek', my father gave anyone in his way a _reason_ to turn the other cheek," Brooke responded shrewdly. "All right. Maybe you're on to something. That luncheon was only bearable because I ran into Danielle. But, tell me this; if you're right…if we're both peasants who loathe the bourgeois... what makes you so comfortable with Shalvoy? Why is does he seem to be the exception to the rule?"

Brooke's eyes grew larger as he husband hesitated. After some sort of silent debate within his mind, McCoy began to eat once more before causally glancing at his wife.

"It's not Donald that's the exception here."

"Really? Then why in the world are you…," Brooke began; stopping as she turned her husband's words over in her mind. As she watched McCoy sneak another glance with a roguish look in his eyes, Brooke's look of confusion changed to a knowing smirk that reminded the DA of the look his first wife used to give him when he caught him in a less than admirable situation. "Oh God Jack! You and Rita Shalvoy?" Brooke said incredulously as she stared at her husband in disbelief.

"She wasn't Rita Shalvoy then," he said indifferently as he continued to eat the remainder of his meal as if unfettered.

"And you wonder why people think you're a womanizer."

"We had a relationship. I didn't say we slept together."

"You implied it," Brooke said with annoyance before beginning to clear the table. "Do I need to treat you as I would a hostile witness or are you going to cut to the chase?"

"I saw her on and off during her internship with Shelter Services. She was finishing her masters in social work," McCoy explained as he watched his wife load the dishwasher.

"How long ago?"

"Oh… I'd say at least five years? Well, maybe more-"

"Who was your assistant at that time," Brooke asked smugly.

"Cute," McCoy replied after giving her a challenging glare.

"It's easier than counting the years isn't it?"

"Fine. Jamie was a very months away from leaving when I met Rita," he grudgingly responded.

"So, you were between marriages. Why didn't you sleep with her? Hey," she continued as she gestured at the remaining items on the table. "If you're done, bring those here."

"Believe it or not, I did not sleep with every woman I took to dinner," he replied indignantly as he dutifully responded to her request.

"Not because you didn't want to," she countered with a snicker.

"I was a healthy man with healthy needs," he replied with a grin as she exchanged the dishes he held for his wife's waist. "I still am. I see no reason to apologize that."

"Neither do I," Brooke said seductively as she slipped her arms around his neck before he kissed her. Using her hip to close the dishwasher door that separated them, Brooke then pressed herself again McCoy, who's breath became deep and heavy as his tongue parted her lips.

"Oh God it's seems like it's been forever since we...," Brooke whispered as her husband's lips moved from her mouth to the side of her neck.

"I thought you wanted to hear about my harem," McCoy said with a soft chuckle as his hands began to unfasten the buttons of her blouse.

"After," she said with a smile, as she watched the blouse fall to the floor and reached for his hand.


	35. Chapter 35

"On behalf of the Suffolk County District Attorney's Office, I want to thank you."

Jack McCoy eyed his wife curiously as he rolled onto his side of the canopy bed.

"Would you like to tell me how making love to my wife warrants such thanks?"

"According to my closest friend and confidant… who incidentally is also the ADA that catches most of my flack… I've needed a quote "good roll in the hay" for a while now," she explained as she rested her head on his shoulder. "Apparently, I've been less than pleasant to work with since we began living like roommates instead of lovers, due to our crazy schedules."

"Less than pleasant to be around? You? Are you sure," McCoy asked in mock disbelief.

"I know it's hard to believe, but yes, I'm sure," Brooke replied with a giggle before running her fingers along his bare chest. "Apparently, I get cranky when I'm not improperly loved on a regular basis."

"Well, we'll have to see that doesn't happen anytime soon," he said as he leaned down to kiss her.

Brooke glanced at the bedside clock before closing her eyes and wrapping her limbs around him once more. At had been a few minutes passed eight when the pair had left the remaining dinner dishes on the kitchen counter to head to the bedroom and make love for the first time in almost a month. Although almost two hours had passed, Brooke silently decided she could make up whatever sleep was to be lost that night during the time her husband would be on the west coast.

"She was a fool not to sleep with you when she had the chance," Brooke murmured before moving low enough to run her tongue over his already hardened nipple.

In the darkness she could hear McCoy's soft laughter before he groaned with pleasure.

"There are some that would say it's the women that_ have_ slept with me that are the fools, love," McCoy replied as he lifted her head. "I assume the 'she' we're talking about is Rita?"

"Maybe that's why I don't trust her," Brooke mused as she ran her fingers through the damp locks that dangling from his forehead. "Any woman that can't see what a prize you are Jack McCoy, is obviously not to be trusted."

"Obviously," he murmured as he began to fondle her breast. "Believe it or not, I was the one that said 'no', not Rita."

Brooke closed her eyes as his curious fingers became more demanding. After he had teased her nipples until they ached with desire, she seductively rubbed her body against his as each of them slipped a hand beneath the thin sheet that covered them. As his skillful fingers slid between her legs once more, Brooke put aside her curiosity about the relationship between the governor's wife and her husband to focus on the pleasure she felt.

"Oh Jack…," she managed to whisper before moaning with delight.

"I thought you wanted to talk," he said with arrogance that served to make her want him all the more.

"We… we could…could talk and…," she stammered as her body arched and she found herself unable to do more than moan and raise her hips as he brought her to the brink of another climax.

"Maybe we better focus on the 'and'," he gasped as her hand insistently squeezed his hardness.

Casting the sheet aside, McCoy ravished her mouth before positioning himself behind her. As his hands and mouth took possession of her torso, McCoy could feel Brooke invitingly open her legs. As he thrust himself inside her McCoy closed his eyes and groaned with pleasure as he fell his body moved in time with the contractions that were becoming increasingly more intense.

As she cried out for him once more, McCoy whispered her name while she withered against him.

Even with the dim light cast by the street light outside their bedroom window, McCoy could see the look of bliss his wife's eyes held as she turned her body so she could face him moments after her last climax. Their eyes remained locked on each other as Brooke wordlessly reached for him and guided his shaft back inside her.

Overwhelmed by desire, McCoy smiled in wonderment at the effect their passion had on his mind and body. Between the trials of the office and his impending grandfatherhood, morality and retirement had been at the forefront of the new DA's thoughts when he had those rare moments to think about something other than the case at hand.

Although he knew he wasn't the lover he had been when he was dazzling assistants so many years before; the man reflected back at him through his wife's adoring eyes was a man who obviously still knew how to please a woman. In those private moments that had become increasingly rare, McCoy also saw that hungry young upstart that had earned his law degree too many years ago to count; the son of a tough Chicago cop who was arrogant enough to go after the bad guys and win…even if the big guys consisted of the powerful and wealthy.

He was still ambitious enough to walk dangerously close the line to get what he wanted and what he wanted was to remain district attorney of New York county.


	36. Chapter 36

"Well at least you won't be walking funny anymore when you pick up Jack from the airport tonight," Jake Cohen remarked with a smirk when Brooke McCoy breezed past him as they left Sam Prescott's office.

"Shut up Cohen," she said with equal humor after she opened her office door. "I told you, Jack and I were moving furniture the night before he went to L.A. and I pulled-"

"Oh save it for someone can't tell when you've gotten some," the senior ADA shot back as he watched her collect her belongings. "What time does your Adonis return from the coast?"

"Eight o'clock," she said as she glanced at her watch.

"Then you better scoot. It's ten after five now and you never know when the train is going to be delayed."

"Agreed. Do you mind dropping me at the station?"

"Anything to keep you from being cranky," Cohen said with a wink as the phone on Brooke's desk began to ring.

The pair exchanged worried glances as Brooke reached for the receiver.

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It was almost ten when Michael Cutter and Jack McCoy pulled up in front of McCoy's brownstone.

"Mike I really appreciate you finding the time-"

"Not a problem Jack," the EADA replied as the button he pressed popped the latch on the truck of his sedan. "When Brooke called and asked me to meet you, she said the cops out her way had just booked the suspect in that child abduction case last March. I knew you wouldn't expect her to drop that just to play chauffeur."

"Not that it would have mattered what my expectations were," McCoy said with a smirk.

"Would it have mattered to you, if the positions were reversed?"

"How long haveyou been working across the hall form me, Mike?"

"Gee, maybe six months."

"Then you already know the answer to that, don't you," McCoy replied without missing a beat, as he opened the car door.

"Hey Jack speaking of cases, Connie is arraigning the suspect in that jewelry store murder I told you about while you were out of town."

"Anything out of the ordinary?"

"Nothing so far," he said as he shook his head.

"Good. Where due for a slow spell, maybe this case will be open and shut."

"Here's hoping," Cutter replied before McCoy closed the door.

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The next morning, Sam Prescott's eyes were glued to the lead story of the _Islip Bulletin_ when he started down the hall way leading to his office. Having been in court all of the day before to wrap of the last of his open cases for the state attorney's office, Prescott had been unaware the man accused of raping and murdering six year old Chloe De Antonio had been not only charged but arraigned in night court, due in large part to the persistence of his EADA. As he paused to unlock his door, Prescott's attention shifted to an unexpected sound in the office across the hall.

Cautiously opening the door that had been ajar. Prescott found a case file on the floor, not far from his former wife who's head rested on the blotter of her desk.

"Lord woman, weren't you supposed pick up your husband at JFK last night," he asked as he gently shook her shoulder. "Mal? Mal, it's after seven…Come on girl, open those eyes. McCoy's probably got the 2 7 dragging the Hudson, tryin' to find you by now."

After a few more aggressive shakes, the sleepy blue eyes slowly opened; widening slightly as they focused on Prescott's troubled face.

"Sam?"

"That's me," Prescott replied as Brooke stared curiously into his amused green eyes.

"Hi," she replied dreamily as tried to stifle a yawn.

"Hi, yourself."

"What are you doing here," she asked as she carefully pulled herself up and her office chair back.

"I was gonna ask you the same question. Although the better question is, where does Jack think you are?"

"Don't panic Prescott," she said while she rubbed the sleep from her eyes before she moved towards the half empty pot of coffee across the room. "Jack called when I didn't pick him up at the airport. I told him I was going to be late-"

"Late? Darlin' it's seven thirty four, A.M. What in hell kept you here all night?"

Brooke gestured at the paper her former husband still held in his hand as she poured them each a cup of coffee.

"It should be front page news by now," she remarked as she handed him a mug.

"The De Antonio murder? Mal, I saw that you moved fast on that arraignment… stayin' for night court is one thing…but stayin' _all_ night? Come on, I'll bet the cops haven't even completed their reports –"

"What they_ have_ all ready will turn your stomach. It did mine, "Brooke said as she reached for the receiver and began to dial.

"Most rape homicides aren't pretty, honey."

"Oh Sam, it's so much more than that, so much more," she said gravely just before she heard her husband's weary voice on the other end of the line.

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By the time District Attorney Jack McCoy entered his office the basket of assorted perishable delights his wife had ordered as a 'welcome home/ I'm sorry I didn't come home last night' peace offering had been placed on his desk.

McCoy had felt a mixture of relief and anger when he received a call from his wife explaining why her side of their bed hadn't been slept in. While he was relieved to know Brooke was alive and well, McCoy could feel his temperature rise as she described the case she already obsessed with.

"…_the DeAntonio girl is just the tip of the ice berg," she said indignantly. "Jack, this son of a bitch was selling children. He killed Chloe DeAntonio to keep her from going to the police."_

"_That's no reason to take up residence in Islip," he barked._

"_Well, as I'm concerned a raping, child murdering animal who sells newborns to the highest bidder is more than enough reason for me to spend every waking hour trying to put this son of a bitch away for life. Even if that means I spend a night or two in Islip occasionally."_

"_Newborns," he said with a sense of foreboding filling his consciousness._

"_Yes, Jack. This bastard was selling babies."_

Shaking his head, McCoy's annoyed scowl softened as he read the heartfelt apology on the attached card. McCoy pulled off the protective cellophane and slipped the half a dozen packages of gourmet nuts into the top drawer of his desk before placing the basket behind his desk, just before Mike Cutter opened his office door.

"Jack, the cops have some new evidence in that jewelry store murder that I think you might want to hear."

A few minutes later, McCoy was sitting beside Connie Rubirosa in his old office and listening intently to taped conversations that had led the detectives at the 2 7 to believe the murder was linked to an escort service called 'Excalibur'. After discussing the need to talk to the call girl who had been booked for the shooting the night of the murder, McCoy felt his throat tighten as he listened to the next client book a date.

Upon hearing a sickeningly familiar voice, McCoy's initial alarm was covered by the poker face he had perfected during his days in the courtroom.

"I've heard enough. Thanks," he said before abruptly making a bee line for his office.

_God no_, McCoy told himself more than once and he leaned back in the chair behind his desk. _Not only is this going to destroy Donald Shalvoy politically, the effect sleeping with prostitutes will have on his marriage…on Rita… will be more than devastating_

With a heavy sigh, McCoy took the half empty bottle from his bottom drawer, along with a glass. As he sipped at the amber fluid, McCoy thought about the idealistic young intern that had one of the worst cases of hero worship he'd seen in over twenty years with the DA's office.

Jack McCoy had met the current Mrs. Donald Shalvoy after interviewing a woman who had been brutally raped and left for dead. The task was one that normally would have fallen on his then assistant Serena Southerlyn, had she not been out with the flu. Just as he was leaving the victims room, the social worker on rotation for the local rape crisis unit came barreling passed him, with the wide eyed intern behind her.

After berating him for 'harrassing' a rape victim, the social worker had commanded Rita to wait until she called her and disappeared behind the heavy white door.

McCoy could sense the young woman's discomfort and gave her a reassuring smile.

"_Would you consider it harassment if I told you to take a deep breath and count to ten?"_

_Rita gave him a startled stare before slowly shaking her head._

"_Is it that obvious?"_

"_That she's is your first victim? Not at all," McCoy said before sitting beside her._

_Rita smiled despite her nervousness at the obvious contradiction._

"_Then why the counting and breathing tip?"_

"_Because that's what I do everytime I have to face a victim," he said with sudden seriousness as he slipped his card from his pocket to her hand._

_Rita glanced at the card, only to hold it up and study the name she had heard bantered around by various mentors._

"You're_ Jack McCoy," she said with enough awe to make the older man's smile deepen._

McCoy still smiled as he remembered that look of awe on a face a few years younger than that of his assistant. How he hated to think of the look he'd see on that same face, once Donald Shalvoy's indiscretions became public knowledge.


	37. Chapter 37

When Brooke McCoy gingerly opened the door, she was surprised to find her husband sitting at the computer, waiting for the printer to spit out a document.

"What are you doing," she asked as she closed the door and continued to observe him. "You never use the home computer."

"Not true. I planned several of our trips using this computer," he casually replied as he slipped the page into the satchel beside him.

"Are we going somewhere?"

"Who has the time? I'm checking room rates in Islip," he answered with mild sarcasm as he took care to delete not only his temporary file, but his search and 'send' history as well, before going through the steps to shut down the machine. "Given the fact the only way I'll see you until you get your guilty verdict is in is to book a room out there, I figured I better start looking at monthly rates."

"Not only did I say I was sorry," she said with a slight smile as she started passed him. "I sent you enough treats to keep you and the rest of the tenth floor fed for the next month. What more do you want?"

"I _want_ to kiss my wife, for the first time in over a week," he said with poutiness that served to deepen Brooke's smile. "If that isn't too much to ask?"

"Only if you're going to be nice," she countered sullenly as she continued into the bedroom.

"How nice do I have to be?"

"Nice enough to give me a massage after my bath?"

"I'm the DA; not supposed to be 'nice'."

"You're secret will be safe with me," Brooke retorted as she leaned back on the bed after removing her shoes. "Now come here and give me that kiss."

As he complied, McCoy could feel the knots in both shoulders and Brooke's lower back as his hands ran over her body, while they exchanged a series of increasingly passionate kisses.

"If you'd slept in our bed you wouldn't have those knots," he said smugly as his hands began to work at the knots in her shoulder blades.

"The things I'm willing to give up for truth, justice, and the American Way," she murmured as she grinned up at the suddenly troubled McCoy. "Jack, what is it?"

With a sigh, McCoy wordlessly released her and muttered a feeble excuse about wanting to run her bath before the hour grew too late. McCoy swiftly moved to the bathroom to cut off Brooke's concerned prodding. As he leaned against the closed door, McCoy shook his head as he thought about the 'non-target' letter he had slipped into his briefcase moments before.

As a prosecutor, McCoy knew what he was about to do was, if not over the line right on it. As a new DA ,he knew if the one elected official that had pushed for him to fill Arthur Branches shoes fell from grace with the voters, McCoy's own chances to be elected to public office were almost non-existent. Most importantly, as someone who had at one time been close to the first lady of the state of New York, McCoy knew the devastating effect the news of Donald Shalvoy having not only been unfaithful, but unfaithful numerous times, with numerous women who services he had paid for, would have on a woman McCoy remembered as naive and idealistic.

"Jack? Jack, open the door."

McCoy bit his lip as he answered the concerned calls of the woman on the other side of the door. As she joined him in the bathroom, Brooke glanced at the empty tub and back at her husband.

"Lying had never been your strength," she said as she leaned against one of the two pedestal sinks and gazed up at him. "Running a bath requires the water to be on, Jack. What's really on your mind?"

McCoy fleetingly considered telling his wife about the governor's role in Excalibur Escorts, and discounted the idea just a quickly. It was bad enough he was risking compromising an on go murder case by alerting the man to the increasingly likely chance his indiscretions would soon become public knowledge, but to tell his own wife…an officer of the court…what he intended to do would be compromise Brooke's ethics by expecting her to keep the news to herself.

While he knew he could count on Brooke's loyalty with or without the provisions the law made for spousal privilege, McCoy wasn't as sure he could count on keeping not only his wife's trust, but her respect should he place her in such an ethical dilemma.

"It's this case," he said as he turned his back to her on the pretense of turning the bath facets on.

"What case?"

"Your case. The child rapist-murderer-baby seller case," he said as he impatiently paraphrased her words. "Brooke you're just starting to get over an abortion. Does Sam really think you're the right prosecutor to-"

"Hey, I thought the last thing you wanted was my ex-husband crossing the line into the personal again," she began, only to have McCoy swing around with an expression on his face that gave her more than pause. "What, what I meant was, Sam is my boss now, not my husband. He knows for me to have hung around for night court I must be hell bent to keep that SOB off the streets…that's what he wants in the lead prosecutor on any case. For this case, with all the roadblocks there are whenever you have to rely on the testimony of children, he needs someone whose ready to scratch and scrap for a guilty verdict on every damn count."

"When you interview those children... When you deal with the parents that lost their children...it could bring things back up-"

"I hope it does," Brooke said as she grasped his arms and looked up at him with eyes that were pleading for understanding… a sign she had completely bought the bill of goods he was selling. "Jack, most of us work even harder when a case involves children being harmed. After the abortion…after knowing we won't have a child… listen, I need to do this. I _want_ to do this. I don't want to blow my own horn, but if anyone in that office can sell the whole package to the jury it's me. Hell by the time I'm done, I'll have every member of that jury wishing this state still had a death penalty."


	38. Chapter 38

As he pushed the button marked 'ten' McCoy mentally reviewed his conversation with Governor Donald Shalvoy once more. McCoy hadn't known what to expect when he walked into the Governor's Manhattan office. He seen powerful people react in a variety of ways when their power was threatened; threats, even tears, weren't unusual responses whether the person in question was a man or a woman. Shalvoy's reaction was even hearder to stomach.

"…_I like seeing that fire in your belly. You'll need it when you run for DA next year," the younger man said with smoothness that left McCoy seething._

McCoy had just told the man there were legitimate grounds to deny the justice department's request for records that could lead to Shalvoy's undoing. Before that, the DA had handed the man a copy of the non-target letter McCoy had Fed-exed to the governor's attorney that morning. McCoy urged the man to come clean with his family.

Yet, the younger man seemed unruffled. Shalvoy was almost more confident than when the two had began their discussion

_Does that idiot really think he has me in his pocket?... Does Shalvoy really think he can buy me off with a full term as DA?_

McCoy was still pondering his own questions when he his personal assistant handed him his messages and the two men sitting outside his office stood and introduced themselves as a representatives of the states attorney office and a FBI.

"What can my office do for you gentleman," McCoy asked as he stuffed the small pink sheets in his pocket and ushered them into his office.

"We've been looking at Richie Citrone for awhile. We wanted to thank you for picking him up," the heavy set black man replied.

"You're welcome," McCoy replied with mild amusement as he waited for the other shoe to drop. "But a states attorney and an FBI agent have more pressing thing to attend to than passing out thank you's."

McCoy leaned back and listened politely as the two men explained the real purpose of their visit; to get their hands on the information McCoy feared would incriminate the governor in the prositution ring Citrone was connected to. McCoy put them off by asking for a written request for the records. Once the less than happy duo left his office, McCoy pick up the receiver and ask his assistant to get former federal prosecutor Sam Prescott onn the phone.

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Brooke McCoy hardly noticed her office door open as she, Jake Cohen, and two other assistant district attorney's completed their review of the most recent evidence in the case the local media had dubbed the 'Baby Who' case. A title springing out of the fact the records of the children who had been illegally adopted were so far out of order, finding the birth parents of many of the children was proving to be increasingly difficult, if not impossible. As the group continued to discuss the case acting DA Sam Prescott quietly observed as he took a seat across the room.

"Look, the cops have been over every residence we can find for the defendant," the young woman next to Brooke at the small table by the window retorted. "What ever he did with those records, he didn't hide them in any of those dwellings."

"If he even kept records," the tall turban headed man next to Cohen added as he closed the file in front of him.

"Come on a socio path like Keith Issacs not keep records," Cohen asked with a smirk. "The man thrives on reliving his crimes. The rush he gets from having the power not just to rape and kill, but to play God with the most scared thing in those women's lives... oh... he _has_ those records. I'd stake every guilty verdict I've ever gotten on that."

"Look, the lead on the case is still gathering information on Issac's whereabouts before he came to Suffolk county. Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll be another house or maybe a work site or bank box that turns up," Brooke said as she handed each of the three a paper. "Until then, this is the break down of the witness interviews and depositions our office is doing."

"There's got to be over two hundred names here," the other woman noted.

"Two hundred and ten. That's why I've divided the load between the four of us. Look it over and come see me before sixif you have any concerns. If you need me after that, call my cell and I'll get back to you from Manhattan."

"What you won't be needing that blanket I brought in for your next sleep over," Cohen asked with a smirk as everyone gathered their items from the table and stood.

"You know Brooke," the other man chimed in. "Now that I know how much you enjoy night court, I'd be willing to give up my next rotation so you could spend more time there."

"Avid thanks, but no thanks," Brooke replied as she gave Prescott a nod and ushered the others to the door. "One night with Judge Sarducci was one night too many. Thanks, guys," she continued before turning to the man who sat in one of the two chairs across from her desk; pipe dangling from his lips. "You planning on lighting up in a public building?"

"Not unless you're ready for an impromptu summer shower via the sprinkler system," Prescott said as he slipped a small packet of pipe tobacco from one of the two vest pockets. "You up for a walk?"

"Sure," she said curiously as she grabbed her suit coat from the rack. "Any special reason?"

"Just got a call I want to talk to you about," he said as he opened the door for her."But not here. Somewhere without any distractions."

Brooke waited until they had exited the building and made their way to one of the benches on the green way across from the red brick building before turn her impatient gaze on the former federal prosecutor.

"Quit fiddling with that pipe and tell me what's going on," Brooke said as Prescott ignored her and kept his focus where it had been as he pulled out a lighter. "Come one Sam, you said something about a phone call. Did Issac's lawyer call to – "

"Your husband called me to ask if I knew anything about why my friends over at the Justice Department are concerning themselves with a run of the mill prostitution case."

"Well? Do you," she retorted as she asked herself the question that was about to come her ex-husband's lips.

"I have an idea," he remarked as he smiled faintly at the first bit of sweet smell smoke. "But my question is: If it's a 'run of the mill prostitution ring' why is the New York county DA concerned? Concerned enough with Justices motives to call his sworn enemy, the acting DA of Suffolk County?"

"God Sam, you make sound like you two are members of the knights of the round table or something," she said with a chuckle. "Wanna tell me which one you image yourself to be: The Black or the White Knight?"

"Brooke, tell me somethin' will you" Prescott asked as the levity from a moment before evaporated. "You asked me about Donald Shalvoy at Danielle's party, right?"

"I did and you basically stone walled me before you told me to stay in my place," she countered bluntly. "Has something changed since then?"

"Justice is investigating Shalvoy," Prescott said with equal candor as he returned the lighter to his pocket. "Ever since Shalvoy buried some of the department's own while he was on the anti-corruption task force, some of the old timers have been out for blood."

"Because the man did some much needed house cleaning?"

"Because," he said with a sigh, "the man appears to have targeted prosecutors that wouldn't play ball with him. Sure, he had some evidence of minor wrong doing…cuttin' corners…the kind of stuff that warrants a reprimand. Not the kind of stuff that should have ended careers," Prescott paused as he finally turned his attention from the pipe in his hand to the woman beside him. "He's not a nice man, Brooke."

Brooke swallow hard as she held Prescott's gaze and nodded at the unspoken warning it held.

"Did you tell Jack that," she asked.

"In much plainer terms yes, I told him. Honey, it's common knowledge in legal circles that Jack wasn't the man most people wanted as Arthur's replacement. It would be more than natural for the man to feel some loyalty…some sense of obligation…when it comes to Donald Shalvoy-"

"What are you suggesting, Samuel?"

Prescott resisted the urge to take a hold of the hands his instincts told him had begun to tremble and focused instead on producing more thin grey rings.

"I'm suggestin' that Shalvoy has somethin' to do with that prostitution ring. I can't think of any other reason Jack would have asked some of the questions he asked about the Justice Department's investigation."

"You're crazy if you think Jack's involved in some sort of cover up. What would he have to gain," she asked defensively. When Prescott responded by giving her a knowing glance, her eyes narrowed as she glared back at him defiantly. "You're not just crazy, you're wrong. You're wrong and I'm not going to dignify what you're implying by-"

"I might be wrong now, but it's easy to get drug into something unexpected when you're dealing with someone like Salvoy. Mal wait," he said as she stood. Prescott stood as well and blocked her path. "I'm not going to tell you everything that was said, but I will tell you this; I told Jack if there was any chance Shalvoy was involved to distance himself and to do it fast. The Feds aren't gonna let this go and if there's any kind of dirt, they're gonna find it soon. If you know anything…suspect anything… now's the time to come forward."

"Sam, there's nothing to tell," she said just before her mind harkened back to McCoy at the computer and the document he moved so quickly to hide from her view.

The former prosecutor immediately sensed her hesitation and jumped on it; demanding to know what she wasn't saying. Brooke shook her head and repeated her previous assertions just as her pager began to buzz. Using the call from Cohen as an excuse to abruptly end the conversation, minutes later,Brooke found the ADA staring at his computer screen as she entered his office.

"You rang?"

"Have you seen this," he said as Cohen motioned for her to look at the screen.

Brooke's heart sank as she read the words_ 'DA Funny with Our Money'_ beside a recent photo of district attorney Jack McCoy.


	39. Chapter 39

"Thank for returning my call Bill. Goodnight," McCoy said as he motioned for Michael Cutter to move from the doorway into the office while he placed the reciever in it's cradle. "It's a bunch of nothing," McCoy explained to the EADA, as he put on his glasses and picked up one of the papers in front of him. "But now the Attorney General has to order an audit."

"I have a friend in the blogosphere. She traced the rumor back to a PI firm," Cutter replied as he glanced at the business card in his hand. "_Swan and Paltec_?"

At the mention of the firm's name McCoy glanced up from his reading, looking weary and only slightly surprised.

"You know them?"

"They handle the governors' campaign," McCoy replied in a tone that caused Cutter to stare him; even more bewildered.

"Jack, didn't you tell me a few weeks ago you were Shalvoy's fair haired boy?"

"A few weeks is a long time," McCoy replied as the realization he had been set up began to sink in.

Cutter continued asking a series of concerned questions until McCoy finally admitted someone was sending the new DA a message. With almost a sense of relief, McCoy told the younger man to close his office door.

As he revealed his concerns about the man known a 'Al' on the escort service tapes, McCoy could see the look of angry disillusionment on his subordinates face become more distinct as he spoke. As miserable as he felt with Cutter's accusing gaze fixed on him, McCoy couldn't help but feel a sense of relief in finally saying aloud what he'd kept to himself for far too long.

Cutter held is tongue admirably, until McCoy admitted tipping not only his own hand, but Cutter's as well.

"And when were you going to tell me," Cutter quietly interjected as he made no attempt to hide the disappointment he felt towards the man he'd come to not only respect, but admire and trust.

"I'm telling you now," McCoy said without apology nor arrogance. "I told Shalvoy the Feds want those tapes. That they're targeting him for a corrupt officials investigation. Now he's sending me a warning. If I don't protect him, I can forget about running for DA next year."

"So now you've decided to run," Cutter said with a trace of cynicism that McCoy couldn't miss.

"I haven't decided not to run," he answered; unwittingly sounded more like a politician than Cutter could stomach.

"Well maybe you shouldn't," Cutter shot back as he ignored the look of injured surprise on his superiors face."I'm trying a murderer and you practically commit witness tampering?"

McCoy responded a feeble attempt at defending himself, that so sounded shallow and weak to his own ears, he couldn't even hold the younger man's gaze.

"He wasn't a witness when I talked to him."

Cutter immediately called him out. The younger man verbalized what McCoy already knew. Once the whole story came out not only would McCoy look bad, the integrity of the DA's office itself could be called into question. As the older man listened, the gravity of his actions weighed him down enough that McCoy longed to turn back the hands of time.

"Mike, get mad at me tomorrow. I can't fight you and the governor at the same time," McCoy finally countered with weariness he felt down to his bones.

After going a few more rounds with the EADA, McCoy watched the door close behind the younger man with a sense of finality and sorrow while he wondered how long it would be before he faced the accusing and disillusioned eyes of his wife and daughter.


	40. Chapter 40

When Connie Rubirosa noticed the DA's wife walking down the hallway she hurriedly called the other woman back to her cubicle and explained that the DA and EADA were discussing a case. Brooke gratefully accepted the younger woman's invitation for her to wait for her husband in the Rubirosa's modest office. While they waited, the two attorney's found themselves immediately gravitating towards shop talk.

Soon, Rubirosa found herself listening so intently to Brooke's recounting of the case she was putting together against Keith Issacs that she almost missed Michael Cutter as he dashed passed her office, without a word.

"…not that anyone is going to believe a lying SOB with a record as long as my arm," Brooke continued with a grin as she followed the younger woman's startled gaze.

"Brooke, excuse me," Rubirosa hurriedly interjected as she dashed after her superior.

Brooke shrugged her shoulders as she realized Cutter's departure meant her husband's meeting had concluded. As she walked towards McCoy's office, she could faintly hear bits and pieces of the heated exchange now occurring between Cutter and Rubirosa; an exchange which served to only deepened her resolve to get what ever her husband seemed to be hiding out into the open.

When she lifted her hand to knock, Brooke was surprised to find the door ajar. Noiselessly, she opened the door. Leaning against the door frame, she silently observed the man behind the desk as he slammed a fist down on his desk before pulling a bottle and glass out of his bottom drawer.

Whatever Cutter had said to her husband had served to destroy the unflappable facade McCoy maintained so well. Brooke couldn't recall seeing her husband look so tired... so defeated... so much like a used up old man.

"Are you drinking to remember or drinking to forget," she asked softly as she closed the door behind her.

When McCoy looked up, it was with a less than welcoming expression; as if finding her there meant he had yet one more unwanted battle to fight.

"I thought you had a murdering-rapist-child-seller to convict?"

"I do and I will. Now, answer the question."

"I'm drinking to wash down these," he answered, as he wearily opened his top drawer and pulled out two shiny packets. "Care to join me for dinner?"

"Well, they _are_ gourmet. How can I refuse such a generous invitation," Brooke replied as she came around the desk and picked up one of the two packets of walnuts.

"I assume you've talked to your acting DA?"

"I have. You know Jack, you could have told me," she said as she ran her fingers over the deep worry lines that were evidence of the internal termoil the DA felt.

McCoy nodded as he pulled out another glass and began to pour. Even as he spoke to Sam Prescott, McCoy had wondered if his decision to talk to the former federal prosecutor was an unconscious way to alert his wife to the worries he was hiding. He was sure Liz Olivet or Emil Scokda would have a field day with the subliminal messages sent by involving in his wife's former husband in his search for answers regarding Shalvoy and the Justice Department.

"I didn't want to involve you in something that could compromise both of us."

"I've seen the _Manhattan Hears_ blog," she said as she opened the package. "We both know it's a load of crap. A load of crap that's been aimed at you for a reason. You want to tell me what that reason is, Jack?"

"What else do you know," he asked as he reached for his drink, only to have Brooke place her hand over his.

"I know you wouldn't question a reasonable request from the Justice Department without good reason. I also know you were working on something you didn't want me to see last night. Connie and I just had a nice little chat about our case loads. So let's see, we have a prostitution scandal, a request from Justice for tapes on said scandal, which we both know they'd only want if they were already sure there is some dirt on the governor those tapes, we have you hiding documents that were written on your personal computer and you're worried about compromising yourself. It doesn't take too much smarts to figure out that document you were working on a letter of non-target. A letter you've undoubtably given to Shalvoy's attorney, if not the great man himself, by now. What I can't figure out is why, Jack? Why gdoes that man warrant special treatment?"

McCoy looked down at the hand that rested on his. As he stared at Brooke's wedding band, McCoy realized how much he had put at risk.

"Because I let sentiment get in the way of justice," he replied bitterly as he squeezed her hand before raising his glass.

Brooke bit back a sardonic retort when she realized McCoy wasn't joking. In her mind his surprising revelation didn't track. How could it? Jack McCoy, the man who had sent his lover, as well as his best friend from law school to prison, give way to sentiment for a man who had simply given his appointment a favorable nod? No, it didn't make sense that filling the DA spot would cause McCoy to so easily abandoned his ideals…

"Are you fucking Shalvoy?"

The accusation...was so unexpected, as well as so coarse... that it caught McCoy off guard. After nearly choking on his scotch, it took him several seconds to recover.

The incredulous look on his face served to only slightly soften the demanding look on his wife's face. When he was able to speak, the tone of McCoy's one word response served to express his disbelief and astonishment as while he struggled to keep his jaw from growing slack.

"NO."

"Good," Brooke said simply and took his hand to led him to the credenza filled with memorbelia from the DA's glory day as a prosecutor. "Then take a good look at these."

"Brooke-"

"Do it," she demanded as she scanned the photos of courtroom scenes, landscapes of places he'd visited during conferences and retreats, as well the solitary photo of his sister that sat among momento's from his over twenty years in the DA's office .

"Alright. I've looked-"

"Don't forget this," she said as she handed him the model sailboat; something she knew symbolized the idealism and integrity that lay beneath his gruff exterior.

"Brooke, I appreciate what you're trying to do-"

"And these," she persisted while she lead him slowly to each wall, that held various awards and certificates he had been given for his work as a prosecutor. Finally, they came to the place where his law degree from New York University hung.

"If you're not fucking Shalvoy, you explain to me why a man who's devoted his whole life to serving the public good is letting Shalvoy fuck_ him?_ Letting sentiment get in the way of justice? For that son of a bitch? A man who can't even be trusted by his own wife, much less the citizens of this state? Try again counselor."

McCoy stared at the diploma for what seemed like hours and thought about the numerous times he'd fought like hell to do what he believed was the right thing, whether or not the DA at the time concurred or not. He remembered the way Adam Schiff had backed him when it came time to go against various influencial and powerful figures, even figures that Schiff had considered personal friends. On a smaller scale, McCoy could recall similar support from Arthur Branch.

Even though Branch made no secret of his political aspirations, everytime McCoy had offered him his resignation, Branch had firmly turned it down.

McCoy found himself wondering how he ever could have hoped to fill the shoes of such men as Schiff and Branch.

"Not for him," he finally said without looking away from the wall. "For her. I told you before I have few illusions about the governor; fewer in the last twenty four hours."

Now it was Brooke's turn to look at her mate with astonishment. It was one thing to get close to the husband of an old friend or to even want to shield that friend from public scorn and humiliation. It was quite another to risk not only the career McCoy had spent his life building, but to risk the outcome of an ongoing case…

"You did this … you tipped off Shalvoy… for his wife?"

"Brooke?"

McCoy looked down as he heard her voice falter, to find his wife looking at him as if he'd slapped her. Unsure whether the tears in her eyes were due to anger over his obvious fallibility or despair as the reality of what he had done sunk in, McCoy reached out to wipe away the thin trail from her face, only to have Brooke smack his hand away.

McCoy nodded slightly as he watched his wife snatch her purse from the desk and start to walk towards the door.

"Should I assume by your silence that you've put me in the same category you have Donald Shalvoy in," he bluntly inquired. "That I'm a man not to be trusted by his wife, much less the citizens of this state?"

"I can't believe you'd let that social climbing bitch do this to you. To us," she shot back as she whirled around to face him.

"Just because Rita Shalvoy buys a five thousand hat doesn't make her-"

"_Don't_ defend her. My God Jack, don't you get it? After what you've done, don't you think it's time to forget about Rita Shalvoy for half a second and start worrying about defending yourself," she snapped as she ran a hand over her cheek.

"You didn't answer my question. Do you trust me," he demanded as the frustration and emotions of the day finally came to the surface.

"If you have to ask me that, you really haven't been paying attention the last two and a half years. Of course I trust you. Right now, I just don't think you're terribly bright, Jack."

"Did you just call me stupid," he sputtered as he tried to decide whether to laugh or rage.

"We're both tired. I don't want to say anymore and risk saying something else we'll both regret," she replied before moving to the doorway. "Let's just leave things where they are for now."

"Well if talking to me is that disillusioning, maybe I should sleep here tonight."

As soon as the words left his mouth, the expression on his wife's face caused the DA to silently curse himself and wonder if his wife's assessment of his intelligence wasn't closer to the mark than he liked to think.

"If that's your choice, you won't get any argument from me, counselor," she said almost instantly and strode out the door without giving him a chance to respond.

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After a night of little sleep and many recriminations, Jack McCoy awoke with little more than a resolve to make right as much as he could, as quickly as he could. After leaving a series of messages for his wife, McCoy grabbed a fresh suit and shirt and headed for the bathroom to freshen up after spending the night on the leather sofa in his office.

Following a breakfast of the assorted treats that had been sent a few days before, McCoy returned the favor by ordering his standard make up bouquet with an additional dozen green carnations thrown in for good measure, before he called the governor's private line and demanded another meeting.

Although the meeting proved to only be more of the same…empty assurances and politely veiled threats of possible consequences if McCoy refused to play ball… McCoy felt confident he had given the other man more than enough warnings and felt no remorse about what had to be done next.

When the DA entered EADA Michael Cutter's office, he found Rubirosa working on the laptop on the round table by the door as Cutter scanned the white board across the room.

As he handed Rubirosa the subpoena, McCoy asked her to wait to give the witnesses name to the defense until she was sure there was no other way to win the case. Rubirosa nodded in agreement as she glanced first at the document, then towards Cutter.

"Governor Shalvoy?"

McCoy caught the EADA's mild look of approval before he met Rubirosa's wide eyed gaze.

"'Al' as he's known to his friends in the escort business," he explained dispassionately. "I never should have talked to that bastard," McCoy continued almost as if he was talking to himself. "I let sentiment cloud my judgment."

"Apology accepted," Cutter interjected as both ADA and DA eyed him with surprise. "But I'm a little confused. Didn't you just turn down the Feds request for the tapes?"

"I don't want the feds to take Shalvoy down," he said as he looked Cutter in the eye. "I want to take him down myself."

Rubirosa followed Cutter's distressed gaze as McCoy closed the door behind him.

"So that's what you couldn't tell me last night," Rubirosa asked as she tapped the subpoena against the table's edge. "Jack's been covering up the governor's involvement in a call girl scandal?"

"Now you know why I was so pissed when I left last night," Cutter said as he sat down beside her.

"I guess. If he told you, he must have told Brooke after we left."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

"Fred, the security guard told me he saw Jack slip out of the men's room right before Fred's shift ended this morning," she said quietly after a courier passed by the office.

"Don't jump to conclusions, Connie. Jack comes in early all the time," Cutter began.

"Mike, Fred said Jack had one suit on when he went in, another when he came out. How often does Jack wear anything besides jeans when he comes in before nine?"

Cutter pursed his lips as he pondered her words.

"You think Brooke threw him out when he told her about Shalvoy?"

"I don't know. But it would be ironic, wouldn't it," Rubirosa asked with increasing apprehension. "Jack goes out of his way to protect a man who's political career, as well as his marriage, would be history if his infidelity became public knowledge and Jack ends up being the one to lose both of those things."

"That's not ironic Connie, that's tragic."


	41. Chapter 41

After spending the better part of the day dodging her husband's phone calls, Brooke McCoy had given the flower arrangement that had rivaled a centerpiece for a large dining table to her administrative assistant and gathered the files she was working with to slip into her briefcase. As luck would have it, both her ex-husband and best friend were in court all afternoon, so Brooke was spared having the bags under her eyes and the sharpness of her tone fall under their scrutiny.

As she left the office, Brooke hoped her good luck would hold and she would manage to get on a train that wouldn't suffer any sudden delays. Unfortunately, the Long Island Railroad had other ideas.

By the time she traded in her work clothes for a pair of jeans and one of McCoy's dress shirts from the hamper, it was almost eight. Brooke closed her eyes and took in the smell of the discarded shirt; the scent of his cologne tinged with his deodorant and natural fragrance made her feel closer to the man at missed, no matter how confused she felt by his actions.

"Damn you for being so naive Jack," she said to the empty loft before she reluctantly looked down at the over flowing hamper and started loading the laundry basket that sat beside the hamper.

As she grabbed the key to the laundry room from the kitchen counter, Brooke paused to look at the flashing red light on the answer machine. Part of her wanted to pick up the phone and tell McCoy to come home. But deep down, Brooke wasn't sure if she was ready to deal with what she was sure would be McCoy's stubborn assertions for interfering in, not one but two investigations.

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"It never fails," Brooke muttered as she read the 'out of order' sign tacked to the laundry room door.

As much as she loved the location and size of the loft, she was equally annoyed by the almost regular disruption of services like laundry and the elevator. Grudgingly, she moved towards the elevator and said a silent prayer that both the elevator and the downstairs laundry would stay in working order until her batch of clothes was clean and dry.

As the elevator doors opened, a pair of suit trousers caught Brooke's eye and she smiled to herself as she thought about 'accidently' throwing the dry clean only item in with the wash and wear load.

She was still pondering laundry sabotage as she started passed the doors covered by white lace that separated the entry from the downstairs laundry and stair well, when Brooke heard the sound of an angry voice in the entry. The angry voice was immediately answered by a voice she recognized as her husbands.

Brooke carefully peeked through the heavy white lace to see Jack McCoy and with the governor of New York.

"You told him? What the hell were you doing," demanded Donald Shalvoy.

"Helping to convict a murderer," McCoy shot back.

Brooke strained to hear the rest of McCoy's words that had dropped to almost a whisper. Shalvoy's angry response startled her enough that she had to step back and steady her grip on the basket.

"My family isn't any of your business. My personal life isn't anybody's business," the other man thundered.

When the entry suddenly grew silent, Brooke dashed behind the stairwell as if she were a child listening to a family argument fearing she would lose her TV privileges if she was caught listening. As much as she wanted to go out and confront the lying SOB that was making her husband's life a professional hell, Brooke wanted even more to hear for herself how McCoy would deal with Shalvoy.

Brooke could feel her body tense when the next sound she heard was Shalvoy voice making a belittling threat as her husband seemed to go mute.

"You worry Jack. You worry how you're going to get elected. It's thanks to me you have this job; nobody else wanted you Jack," she heard Shalvoy's voice menacingly thunder as she abandoned the laundry basket and felt blind rage over take her has she started towards the doors, only to freeze in her steps when she heard a response that reminded her of how proud she was to be Mrs. John James McCoy.

"I'd rather be an unemployed lawyer than a well fed pet," McCoy replied with surprising restraint.

"You're a fool," Shalvoy said under his breath; a few seconds later adding. "I had high hopes for you."

"I had high hopes for you," she heard her husband retort in a tone that told her McCoy was about to blow. It was a sound Brooke savored as she moved further back to where she knew she'd remain out of view.

"How could you do this? To the people who work for you, to the people who elected you? How could you be so reckless with their trust? I respected you, Donald," McCoy continued, with the same kind of disillusionment Brooke's tone had held the night before, as he opened the door. "I respected you."

McCoy wearily moved passed the staircase; nearly tripping on the abandoned laundry basket. As he bent down, he studied the pair of suit trousers that sat at the top of the pile with increasing puzzlement, as a arm snaked around his neck from behind.

"God you're exciting when you throw your career away with both hands," Brooke whispered as her startled husband turned to face her. Before the befuddled prosecutor could reply, his wife kissed him full on the lips.

"You say that now, but when were down in Hell's Kitchen living hand to mouth-"

"As long as I'm with you I don't care if we live in a cardboard box," she declared between kisses.

"Looks like I was missed," he asked as he studied the shirt that hung loosely on his wife's slender frame. "Maybe if you'd returned one of the messages I left-"

"Maybe I was waiting for sign that Shanty Irish SOB I married hadn't gone Lace Curtain on me."

McCoy's eyes widened as he bit his lips and gave her a lazy half smile.

"Faith and begora, sounds like the lass has been talkin' to my kin," he said with an accent so thick both of them began to laugh.

"Colleen called me at work today from Chicago. Apparently she reads the blogs to keep abreast of her big brother's latest wins. I'm sorry I lost my temper," she said with sudden seriousness. "I know you did what you thought was right, whether or not I agree with it."

"I never should have let my personal feelings color my judgment," McCoy said as he thoughtfully fingered the collar of the shirt she wore. "I should have been above board from the moment I heard Donald's voice on that tape."

"You can't be perfect all the time; that arrogant son of a bitch you're about to take down sure as hell isn't."

"Are you referring to the adultery or the fact Donald thought he could bully your husband into submission?"

Brooke raised her eyebrows as she grinned up at him while she pulled playfully on his necktie.

"That bastard was wrong about everything, but he was completely off the mark when he said 'nobody wanted you'," Brooke said suggestively as she pulled him closer. "Let's go upstairs and I'll show you_ exactly_ much you're wanted."

McCoy's quiet laughter was quickly stifled as he felt her lips on his once more. McCoy could feel the tension drain from his body as he became increasingly aroused and more than a little invigorated, as he realized there was no longer any thing left to decide.

"I hate to point this out, but weren't you on your way to do laundry," he asked as disengaged himself from her embrace long enough to pick up the discarded basket.

"You'd rather have a stiff collar than a stiff-," Brooke began before McCoy silenced her with another kiss, as soon as he caught a glimpse of one of their elderly neighbors getting off of the elevator a few feet from them.

Brooke followed his gaze and tried to stifle a giggle as the neighbor ignored her husband's polite greeting and gave the couple a disapproving stare.

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By the time the couple had returned to the loft, their sides hurt from laughing and they had both pushed the worries of the day out of their minds to focus on the job of making up for an evening spent apart.

"If you're not careful with that mouth of yours, you're going to get us evicted," McCoy said between chuckles as he moved towards the flashing red light on the counter.

"Oh leave it. You know it's just recordings of you groveling to be invited back to my bed," Brooke brazenly remarked as she set the basket full of soiled clothes on the sofa.

"I did all my groveling on your voice mail. The message I left on the house phone-"

"Just one?"

"Just one. Was to ask you to pick up my blue suit from the cleaners when you were ready to stop pouting and come to your senses."

Brooke stuck her tongue out in a way that made her worldly husband blush, as he pressed the 'play' button.

"Must not have wanted to come home very much if you left just one."

McCoy grinned back at her and raised his finger to his lips as his gruff voice came on the phone.

"Damn it Brooke, if you think I'm going to spend the next decade trying to kiss your-," the message began, only to be abruptly erased by its sender.

"Chicken."

McCoy nodded empathically, as he thought about the remarks that had been made after too little sleep and too much obsessing.

The next voice that they heard immediately got their attention. As Jake Cohen described the melt down of one of the key witnesses in the Issac case, McCoy loosened his grip on his wife and nodded before she grabbed a pen and paper from the desk.

"You know you have to go," he said as Brooke looked at him expectantly after the message ended. "All I ask is that you call me when you get there and when you're ready to come home."

"Jack, you know I wouldn't even think about going if–"

"I know," he said as he kissed the top of her head and gave her an amused once over with his eyes. "Before you go, maybe you better consider putting on something that is more tailored than a dirty dress shirt of mine."

"I have clothes at the office," she replied as she slipped a jacket on and reached for her briefcase. "Don't wait up. You know I love you, right?"

"That doesn't mean I don't like hearing it from time to time, love."

Brooke smiled back as she opened the door.

"I love you Jack McCoy and I don't think I've ever been more proud of you than I was tonight."

McCoy smiled as he watched the door close. As he removed his all ready loosened tie, McCoy thought about calling his sister to reassure her regarding whatever nonsense she had read on the internet. As he turned back to the desk to look for his address book, his eyes fell on the painting above the fireplace of himself and the woman who had just left him.

As he stared at the portrait, McCoy thought about how blessed his life was. With or without his job he had a wonderful daughter, a grandchild on the way, and an adoring wife who, he had no doubt would indeed prefer life in a box together, to a life without him.

_I'm the reason you have that job, Jack. Nobody else wanted you…_

McCoy thought about the words and remembered exactly where he would have been without Donald Shalvoy. He'd be across the hall from who ever the mayor or the attorney general had managed to get passed the governor. He'd probably be in that very office now, working with Connie on trial preparation for if not this, some other case that fell in the lap of the EADA for major felonies.

He'd be doing what he'd done for more than twenty years. He'd be a prosecutor…a prosecutor who would be returning to this very loft at the end of another day of doing what he loved and eventually going to sleep with the woman he loved… a woman that loved him for the man he was, not the man Donald Shalvoy wanted him to be.

A man who would always be Shanty Irish inside no matter how much he might look the part of Lace Irish, on the outside.

"Not a bad life; not bad at all," he mused as he gave the painting one last glance before he picked up the address book and started towards the phone to make a long overdue call to Chicago.


	42. Chapter 42

It was well after midnight when Brooke returned to the loft. Calming the young witness enough for Jake Cohen to complete the disposition that could prove to be key in Brooke's case against Robert Paxton, turned out to be more difficult than the EADA had anticipated.

When the her alarm went off a mere five hours later, Jack McCoy had all ready finished dressing and was on his way to a breakfast meeting. In an effort to allow his wife to gain another hour of much needed sleep, McCoy had left a fresh pot of coffee and a note, not only expressing his love, but also describing his desire to consummate the makeup ritual that had been abruptly cut short the night before.

Equally anxious to fulfill his poetic, yet highly descriptive request, Brooke worked through lunch in order to ensure nothing would stand in the way of her catching the 6:47 train home to Manhattan. She was just about to log her computer off when the apologetic call came 6:17 from her frustrated husband who hadn't even begun drafting his statement for the attorney general regarding his visit to California. A task that he couldn't afford to put off any longer.

Hoping to salvage at least part of the evening, Brooke asked McCoy to let her his act as his personal deliver girl and allow her to swing by _The Hungry Dragon_ for him, so they could enjoy an order of moo shoo and egg rolls together. She promised to make the wait worth his while by bringing not only a double order of moo shoo and egg rolls, but other assorted delights to share on the leather sofa in his office.

Before picking up the food, Brooke dashed by the loft to trade her tailored suit in for something more appropriate. After she phoned in the usual order, she impulsively snatched her trench coat from the rack by the door and began her journey to the restrarunt.

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Jack McCoy glanced up from the legal pad, surprised to see the woman clad in a simple jacket and causal skirt…surprised to see a woman other than his wife.

"Rita," McCoy said apologetically as he stood and abandon the pad and pen. "They didn't tell me you were here."

"Ten years as a victims advocate," she said as she leaned against the door frame. "I've perfected the art of the ambush. Donald told me what's going on," she continued quietly as she moved into the office. "He told me all about it."

When the elevator doors opened, Brooke cautiously peered out to assure herself the hall was indeed empty before striding out with take out bag and coat in hand. If she hadn't felt so bad about cutting the evening short the night before, she never would have considered going out in public in the black satin bike shorts, The_ Hungry Dragon_ tee shirt she had changed into at the restaurant after charming the owner into letting her buy the one size too small tight white tee, and the spiked black heels that make her feet scream for relief after walking nearly ten city blocks in them.

"I promise you, he won't seek re-election," a soft voice, with just the right amount of pleading said; freezing Brooke in her tracks just before she reached McCoy's administrative assistant's desk. "He'll be out of office in a year. Please, Jack let my family leave public life with some dignity."

_Dignity?...Oh shit_, Brooke thought as she stared down at her outfit and frantically stepped back behind the corner she'd just turned, to cover herself with her coat.

Once she had composed herself, Brooke strained her ears, immediately saying a silent prayer of thanks as she caught her husband's concerned, but negative response.

"You want to serve the greater good," Rita Slavoy persisted. "I know that about you. This office is where you can do the most good, "she continued in a tone, which to Brooke's ears, seemed to hear the slightest of implied threats.

"You'd have me keep my job by not doing my job," McCoy asked as gently as he could. "Donald broke the law."

Brooke's pulse began to race as the governor's wife told him not to get self-righteous and preceded to give what the district attorney's wife sensed was the performance of her life, only to have McCoy apologize once more. After several moments of silence Rita Shavoy blindly walked passed Brooke. Rita's formerly angelic face was tight with bitterness and determination. Without warning, Brooke leaned back against the wall and put her hands together to applaud slowly and loudly.

"Mrs. McCoy," Rita gasped as her eyes widened in surprise.

"Bravo! It's a shame the Tony awards have already been given," Brooke said as she took in the humble attire and hair tousled enough to give the other woman an air of disarray… the kind of disarray only another woman would know had been flawlessly staged.

"Excuse me," the other woman replied as if wounded. "I'm not only fighting for my marriage, I'm fighting for my husband's political life and you-"

"Really? I thought you didn't plan on playing the 'long suffering wife'? If you're so concerned with not being humiliated, how is it you found your way to groveling on your husband's behalf with Jack?"

"You and Jack are new at this; at playing the political game," Rita said with sudden smoothness. "Did it ever occur to you my 'groveling' was a way of trying to help Jack save his political life, as well as my husbands? If Donald goes to jail, he won't go alone."

"Jack's all ready admitted he mishandled the Beezley case. He'll have to answer to the voters for that mis-step,but-"

"Are you so sure that's the only mis-step your husband's made?"

"I know it's not the _only_ mis-step my husbands made," Brooke shot back smugly. "The first one was thinking you were still that naïve college girl he met all those years ago."

"You know...Jack told you-," Rita gasped in horror, just as McCoy came to investigate the increasingly loud exchange.

"Did you think he wouldn't? I _am_ his wife, Rita."

"Brooke," McCoy interjected with sharpness that caused his wife to stare back at him with defiance that masked her uneasiness. "That's enough. Rita I-"

"I, I can't believe you'd… good bye Jack," her shaky voice interjected as the elevator doors opened and Michael Cutter stepped forward.

As the younger man took in the scene, it only took a moment for him to instinctively decide moving silently, swiftly down the hall was the best course of action.

"Rita, I _didn't_-'McCoy started; only to have to double doors close before he could finish. Afterwards McCoy stared at his wife with a look that was almost as filled with pain and shock as the one on Brooke's face. "How could you do that?"

"I don't know Jack," she replied in a tone just above a whisper. "How could I confront the woman that's not only making a pasty out of my husband, but ready and willing to see him brought down with her own corrupt husband? Gosh, I don't know what I was thinking."

"Rita isn't what you think she is," he shot back as he bent down to pick up the forgotten bag of take out.

"In that case Jack, why don't you tell me exactly what she is?"

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By the time McCoy had returned from speaking checking in on his EADA, Brooke had laid out the assortment of cartons on the desk and laced her cup of seven up with a healthy dose of the scotch her husband kept in his bottom drawer. As she plopped down on the sofa, Brooke kicked off the torture tools called 'shoes' and took a long drag of her drink.

"I apologize for snapping –,"McCoy began as he closed the office door.

"You know Jack I think in the last month, we've both said variations of that sentence more times than we have the whole time we've know each other. I don't want anymore flowers and promises of fabulous 'make up' sex. I want you to feel like…I want to be your…you asked me the other night if I trusted you. Tonight, I feel like I need to ask you that same question."

"Brooke, it's not a matter of trust-"

"Then what_ is_ it a matter of? You told me you and Rita weren't lovers and I believed you. I'm not jealous Jack. I just don't understand ..."

"It's not my story to tell," he said intensely, as he sat beside her."You of all people should…," he continued with growing frustration, before his eyes fell on the discarded shoes. Pausing to pick the black stilettos, McCoy studied the five inch heels and gave his wife an amused look. "Something _you_ want to share with _me_? You only wear these if we're going to the theater or… you_ never_ wear them to work," he said as his smile threatened to turn into a grin. "Why don't you let me help you with your coat-"

"No," Brooke said as she stuck her lips outward and hugged the thin fabric to her frame.

"No?"

"No distractions until we settle this," she said with a pout as she began to fill a plate. "Obviously, you two have some sort of bond…you're protecting some sort of confidence. I respect that, Jack."

"Then you understand why-"

"I understand why you can't break a confidence. I don't understand why you won't protect yourself," she said placing the plate in his hand and reaching for the one that remained on the table.

"I've told you what I did, I've told Mike. I've made it clear to Donald and Rita I'm done trying to cover for him. I don't know what else I you want me to do."

"I want you to be pro-active," she said with sudden tenderness as she watched him give into his hunger and pick up a pair of chop sticks. "I want you to watch your back and cover your ass. I want you to forget the woman she was when you met her; before she met Donald Shalvoy and be prepared for the woman Rita Shalvoy is today."

"I'm not naïve, Brooke."

"Then you know she was sending you a message…or I should say…Donald was using her to send you a message."

"You're just not going to let this go, are you," he said impatiently as he found himself shoveling bite full's of food into his mouth; suddenly aware of how in need of sustanance this body was. "The woman just found out her husband was unfaithful. You heard her, she doesn't want to be humiliated-"

"Easy solution…she leaves the bastard," Brooke said so nonchalantly that he husband unconsciously suspended his food fest.

"She has children."

"That will be better off without a lying snake for a role model."

"Easy to say when you're not wearing her shoes…so to speak," he remarked as he gave the sultry shoes a suggestive glance.

Brooke shook her head as she let out a chuckle. After several silent beats, she set her plate down and wordlessly slipped on her shoes before she stood up and slowly undid the knot on her belt.

"If I _were_ in her shoes and I found out you'd not only betrayed me, but you'd done it with multiple partners…partners you had to pay to sleep with you…,"she replied smoothly as she let the coat fall to the ground. "Not only would I divorce you, I'd fuck you over in every way, except the one that would give you any kind of pleasure."

McCoy grinned up at her and reached for her hand; suddenly jerking it to cause Brooke to fall onto his lap.

"You realize Mike's right down the hall? We could end up with another sex scandal to explain."

"You locked the door when you came in. I took the liberty of locking the other one when _I_ came in," she replied as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I meant it Jack. I don't want this to be you being conciliatory… having make up sex just for the sake of…"

McCoy's soft laughter was muffled as he leaned in and gave her a kiss.

"I know," he whispered as he ran his fingers over the waist band of her shorts. "Remember, you're just the delivery girl looking for a big tip before you make your next stop."

"So_ this_ is what goes on when you work those late nights and order in," she said seductively as she leaned back on the cushion and drew him down.


	43. Chapter 43

Brooke McCoy shook her head and took another look at the headline the _New York Times_ she held, before tossing it into the trash can her way out of Islip train station. McCoy had told her of the plea bargain that had been reached in the Frank Beezley just case days before. A deal that meant Governor Shalvoy had neatly managed to avoid testifying, which meant his secret life would remain secret…at least for awhile.

Seeing the headline: _White Plains to Gain 10,000 New Government Jobs_ only served to remind her of another twist in the tale: The Justice Department had suspended its investigation of Shalvoy, just in time for the DEA to be given a lease on land in White Plains to house a much needed regional headquarters, for a mere dollar for the next ninety nine years.

_What a 'happy' coincidence _she thought bitterly, as she completed the brief walk from the station to the Suffolk County DA's office. Another 'happy' coincidence involved Ricky Citrone disappearing into witness protection. She knew that act would put the final nail in the coffin of any investigation her husband's office had going to bring Shalvoy's dirty dealings to the attention of the public.

She also knew where it put Jack McCoy in terms of his upcoming bid to remain District Attorney of New York County.

"Good morning beautiful," Jake Cohen exclaimed as he gave Brooke a peak on the cheeks fell into line with her after she stepped off the elevator. "And what a beautiful morning it is as well!"

"Who put happy pills in your orange juice this morning, Cohen? Have you even _looked_ at the morning paper yet," Brooke asked as she rolled her eyes.

"The more interesting question for you concern yourself with would be _who_ made my breakfast this morning; not what ingredients were used to make it," he countered with a roguish grin that made Brooke smiled despite her less than happy mood.

"Cohen! You got laid," she excitedly declared, as they walked through her doorway. Turning to face him, Brooke pulled him into an embrace as she noisily kissed his cheek. "Congratulations! I assume by the satisfied smirk, was a slam-bam-thank-you-sir encounter?"

"You know I never kiss and tell," he replied coyly as he plopped down in the chair across from her. "I _will_ say this one has ... potential? Yes, that's the word… potential."

"Damn. I don't have a cigarette and Jack has that box of cigars we bought for when the baby… oh Jake don't look at me like that," Brooke gently chided the ADA when his face grew instantly somber. "I was trying to make a joke...you know great sex calls for a cigarette after wards... and it just slipped out. I'm okay, honest."

"You're sure?"

"Oh God yes," she impatiently lied. "Now, where did you meet him, what does he do, and how long has he been out of his last long term rel-"

"Slow down Mom," Cohen said as he tossed the pile of mail that had been at the center of her desk, onto her lap. "There's plenty of time to bring you up to speed at lunch. We are still on for _Brennen's_ at one?"

"As long as the Exec meeting doesn't run over," she responded absentmindedly as she rifled through the pile that had gone from her lap to her hand. Suddenly the shuffling seized and Brooke studied the unmarked envelope thoughtfully.

"By the way, thanks again for dashing down here the other night. If you hadn't, I doubt we'd have enough to go forward with the Paxton case."

"No problem," she answered, still eyeing the envelope. "You needed a woman's touch. I should have realized that when I scheduled you to take her deposition. Julie is only three and she saw her sister and mother not only murdered but…"

"What's up?"

"No address…to or from…," Brooek answered as she automatically reached for the handle of her top desk drawer.

"You want me to call the bomb squad-"

"No," she said while shoughfully cocked her head to one side and tapped the white legal size envelope against the edge of the desk. "It seems harmless enough…it's light…"

"Brooke do you remember how to spell 'Anthrax'," Cohen said in vain while he watched her slip on a set on the rub gloves and one of the paper face masks that had become stadard issue in DA's offices around the country, before she pulled a single page from the envelope. "All right what is it? An ad or an invitation to another hat luncheon?"

Brooke stared down at the single photocopy so long that Cohen to became concerned enough to join her on the other side of the desk and scan the page over her shoulder. The page looked like it had come from a computerized date book…the letterhead at the top reading _Excalibur Exclusives_…

"Brooke, don't jump to conclusions" Cohen began, recognizing the name of the escort service from the articles he'd read about the Citrone and Beezley cases. "My God, look at the date. It's February fifteenth. He's going to cheat on you the day after he booked a room at _The Four Seasons_ for the two of you for Valentine's Day? Come on… what are you doing?"

Brooke ignored the question as her fingers feverishly flew over the keyboard; opening her own electronic day planner and flipping the pages backwards until she was looking at her schedule for 2/15/08.

"Son of a bitch," she whispered as the mounting rage she felt threatened to cut off her voice completely.

Cohen stared down at the computer screen. He could see the usual laundry list of cases and meeting listed for her day, up until noon. At noon the entries stopped after to notation:_ USAirways #389 2:30 for Davidson Deposition. REMINDER TO FRAN: NO APPOINTMENTS STARTING TODAY, 2/15 UNTIL 9 a.m. 2/17 ._

"I was out of town," she hissed so vemonesly Cohen hesitated to respond. "How the _hell_ did that bastard know..."

Before she could finish her remark, Brooke heard the door across the hall open and quickly close. Without another word she left and bewildered Cohen and walked unannounced into the DA's office, much to his surprise…and her's.

"Brooke? Why the hell don't ... what happened," Sam Prescott asked upon seeing the look of utter and complete rage on his ex-wife's face.

"Sam? Danielle," Brooke gasped; her face immediately turning a shade of red reminiscent of a fire truck, as Danielle Melnick sprung out of her husband's lap and hastily began checking the buttons on her blue satin blouse.

"Ah, Danielle and I just came from breakfast. She has a case at ten across the street and-"

"Oh God, I'm so sorry," Brooke mumbled as she raced towards the hall.

"Brooke wait," Danielle called out as she gave her husband a chaste kiss on the cheek. "It's nine forty-five. I should be going anyway. You obviously came in here for a reason, so…"

"I am_ so_ sorry."

Melnick gave the other woman a reassuring smile and squeezed her arm as she strode out the door, closing it behind her.

"Now what has you in such a state that you forgot to use the good manners you were raised with... like knockin' before you open a closed door," Prescott asked as he wiped the last Melnick's bright cherry red lipstick onto his handkerchief.

"I am so sorry, Sam. I was a little distracted by this," Brooke explained as she handed him the copy. "This was in my morning mail. Plain envelope; nothing on it. Not even a stamp."

"How'd something like this get by Fran? Your administrative assistant's been around long enough to know better-"

"I'll ask her, but I doubt Fran even saw this. I got in at nine thirty and the elevators were already full of people. My office door was unlocked. I assume Fran unlocked it like always, when she gets in. Anyone could have slipped up here and stuffed this into the pile."

"You know, we really need to work on security around here. I mean, signin' in downstairs is one thing, but…,"Prescott began as he studied the document in his hand; his voice trailing off as he realized what it was he held. After putting on his reading glasses, Prescott leaned back in his chair and searched his ex-wife's face to gage her reaction.

"What do you think?"

"Oh no," Prescott countered with a wary tone. "I wasn't born yesterday. I ain't stepping into that puddle without boots, you first."

"I think if I didn't look so washed out in prison orange, I'd drive up to Albany and slap every tooth out of that crooked son of a bitch we all our governor's lieing mouth and then I'd drag his worthless carcass across-"

"That'll do," he said with a chuckle. No matter what his feeling for Jack McCoy were, Prescott found himself relieved to see it was the sender of the infamous copy his ex-wife was raged towards and not her new husband. " Now that I know who the target of your wrath is, I have a better idea of why you're here."

"Good, then let's cut to the chase. Okay, a dollar for ninety nine years on prime real estate is sweet," Brooke said as she sat down across from Prescott. "But come on Sam, it's the _Feds_ were talking about-"

"Don't you mean those 'damn' Feds," he said snidely; unable to resisted poking at Brooke's natural distrust of the sister law enforcement organization.

"-we both know they don't give up this easily once they've got their teeth into something," Brooke continued; ignoring the knowing smirk on his face, as she watched him expectantly.

They both knew what she was asking. It was a question Prescott had asked himself when he saw the moring headline in his own copy of the _Bulletin. _Could the Justice Department really be bought off so easily...with a new regional headquarters? Would a 'gift' from a governor that had distroyed the careers of so many honest, hardworking states attorney's be given a free pass... just for some prime office space?

It was a question he had asked one of his old friends who was high up on the Juctice Department's food chain...via cellphone... as he breakfasted with this wife that morning.

While he knew he could repeat the confidential details of his friends response, he wasn't about to leave Brooke hanging in the wind.

"No they don't," he said without emotion as he held her gaze, answering her unasked question.

"Good, that's a start," she said as a hint of a smile played on her lips. "Then it's just a matter of time before Shalvoy gets what her so richly deserves. I doubt there's anything to be found on that," she continued as she gestured to the paper that now lay on his desk. "But, can I ask you for couple of favors? Big ones. Can you have it and the envelope sent to one of your old friends in DC for analysis? We might get lucky-"

"Darlin' Donald Shalvoy not only is playing God with your husband's career, he's playing God with the well being of this state. I'll not only get this analyzed for you in DC, I'll call in a marker or two I have out in Langley."

"You want to send it to the CIA," Brooke asked as her eyes widened. "Sam the man _is_ scum, but I doubt he's a threat to national security."

"True, but I have a buddy I met while I was in Witness Protection that works out of Langley now. This guy is a master at evidence analysis. Plus, he may be able to help you whenever you're ready to drop the other shoe. You said 'a couple' of favors?"

Brooke smiled awkwardly. When Prescott's inquiring gaze didn't waver, she shrugged her shoulders.

"Guess you still can read me better than anyone on the planet."

"Always have; always will," he said with smugness that made both their smiles deepen. "Now what else do you need?"

"I want to know how Shalvoy knew when to book that appointment, Sam. When to book it so it would do the most damage if he decided to use it gainst Jack."

"Now you lost me," Prescott said as he glanced at the page again. "February 15th… are you stayin' you can't vouch for Jack that night? You weren't with Jack the night of the 15th?"

"I had a two day depo in Harrisburg. It was last minute. I only knew myself the day before I left. I'm thinkin' Shalvoy had someone hack into not only my office computer, but probably Jack's as well, maybe even our home system."

"Well, if he did, that may be what brings him down…or at least helps bring him down. If we can find a way to prove it. I know my guy in Langley can get a line on that," Prescott said confidently. "Now, when you tell Jack what we're up to, be sure to mention he's not to let it get around I'm bringin' in the Company. I don't want to get ole-"

"I'm not telling Jack," Brooke said flatly. After Prescott's jaw threatened to drop, she sighed before she continued. "Sam, when there's something to tell, then I'll tell Jack."

"Mal, someone tried to make you think the man was unfaithful. Not only unfaithful, but part of a scandal...a murder…indirectly. I think that qualifies as bein' somethin' to tell Jack."

"Sam, the man just hit a brick wall on all four sides of the case he was trying to build against Shalvoy. The last thing he needs is to hear that the man isn't content to stop at playing with Jack's professional life… that now he's crossed the line into our personal life. Let's just see what your guy can do and then I'll tell Jack everything."


	44. Chapter 44

McCoy sat finger entwined behind his head, legs crossed and up on the edge of his desk. He remained in that deceptively relaxed looking state long after Cutter and Rubirosa had left his office. The moment Rubirosa handed him the copy of the Excalibur reservation made under the name 'John McCoy', the DA knew his fight with Donald Shalvoy had only just begun.

McCoy closed his eyes and wondered how he was going to tell his wife about this latest bit of news. It was bad enough he'd covered for a man like Shalvoy…no matter how noble McCoy's motives had been. What was worse was he'd put the entire office at risk by tipping the man off. McCoy knew he'd already dodged a personal bullet when he admitted everything to his wife. Now, to have to test her trust one more time…

When he'd read the date on the reservation, McCoy knew it would be impossible for Brooke to have any first hand knowledge as to where he'd spent the night February 15th. She'd have only his word to rely on; a fact McCoy found little comfort in.

If the truth be told at this point, McCoy himself wouldn't have believed he had spent the evening of February 15th eating a corned beef sandwich alone in the loft while watching a Bulls game and daydreaming about the most memorable Valentine's Day he'd had in years…

He knew he had to tell her about the reservation before someone else did.

Grudgingly, he slipped his feet off the desk and reached for the receiver.

Given the fact that is was mid June and the DA had yet to make it to one of the New York Sympathy's concert's in the park, as he'd promised his new wife he would do, McCoy had little choice but to agree to Brooke's request that he meet her in Central Park that evening. When he arrived, he was glad he'd taken the time to change into jeans and the last of his denim shirts that had made it to the office.

The early evening breeze coming off the manmade lake was balmy and warm. Brooke had all ready laid out the picnic preparations from the basket she'd purchased at the park's entrance on a blanket she'd brought from the loft when she stopped there to change out of her work clothes. Although the park was filled with couples and families all there to enjoy the free concert, the park was large enough that there wasn't the noise or the crowded feeling usually assoicated with a large venue.

"Here's to the weekend; thank God it's just another day away," Brooke said as she tapped her plastic cup of chardonnay against McCoy's.

"More problems with your star witness?'

"You mean Julie? No, once Jake and I got her through the deposition, she seemed to relax…she even let held Jake's hand when it was time for him to take her out to her foster Mom."

"Big step given everything she's been through," McCoy replied. "So things in Islip are pretty quiet? No new disaster baout to to fall into your lap?"

Brooke gazed up at the sliver of moon that was just becoming visible in the night sky.

"Nothing that I can't handle," she replied with a twinge of guilt pinching her conscious, as she thought about the damning reservation copy she had recieved that morning. "How about your lap? Now that Beezley's taken a plea, I guess that takes away whatever chance you had of exposed Shalovoy for what he is, doesn't it?"

McCoy busied himself with the sampler of cheeses and breads, as he pondered a reply. The last person he wanted to talk about on that breezy, moonlit night was Donald Shalvoy. Yet, he knew if he waited for the 'right time' to tell Brooke about the room reservation Cutter and Rubirosa had brought to his attention, he'd be waiting forever.

"What do you think," he asked after slipping a small piece of brie covered French bread in her mouth, before falling onto his back beside her.

"Yum, the brie is still warm. Very tasty," she said with a satisifed smile before she turned and kissed him lightly on the lips.

"God damn that son of a bitch," McCoy muttered; frustrated in the knowledge he was about to break the mood of yet another evening that was supposed focus anything but the affairs of the DA's offices of either Suffolk or New York countries. McCoy nodded slightly, as Brooke's eyes widened in surprise. He propped himself up on an elbow and met her curious gaze . "Connie and Mike have been doing some off the record research for me. Apparently Shalvoy has a sense of humor; disgusting though it may be. My name is one of the aliases Donald used when rendezvousing with hookers. Some joke, huh?"

"He really is a piece of work, isn't he," Brooke remarked in a tone that was more a statement of fact than a question; a tone that did not go unnoticed by her husband.

"You all ready knew about the room reservation?" McCoy sighed with bewilderment that made Brooke's heart heavy with the knowledge she was about to add yet another weight on to his already over burdened shoulders.

"Yeah… I found a copy of the reservation in with this morning's mail at the office."

Just as Brooke finished speaking the fiery opening bars of Beethoven's fifth filled the air. Although the music effectively drowned out his husband's volatile response, the looking of outrage on McCoy's face spoke volumes to his wife.

As the music played on, McCoy remembered Rita Shalvoy's seemingly heartfelt plea's in his office only a few weeks earlier. Her assertion that she would not be humiliated and dissected while her husband groveled for forgiveness played over and over in his mind.

As an ordinary citizen, McCoy had seen many a political wife pulled apart by the media after her husband had foolishly dallied with other women. Rita Shalvoy was right. It was humiliating…degrading…and the last thing McCoy was willing watch his own wife through.

By the time the concert had reached the half way mark, all that remained of the items from the basket were a few grapes and half a glass of wine. Once the customary fifteen minute break began, Brooke dashed to the closest concession stand to beat the wave of thirsty patrons.

While he waited for her return, he unconsciously began to pace…eventually ending up away from the crowd and leaning against the railing of one of the many manmade bridges in Central Park.

Two years ago if anyone told him how much he'd savor a third marriage…as well as the job he never really thought he wanted… McCoy would have found both ideas more than laughable. Even after their relationship had become intimate, Jack McCoy may have known he enjoyed, desired, even loved Brooke, but he had no idea how hard he'd willing to work at a third marriage, nor how much he'd be willing to give up to protect that marriage.

"Hey, you know what happens if you leave me and one of these alone too long," Brooke's said from behind him. McCoy smiled as he turned to find her holding out a foot long hot dog that was shy, approximately three inches.

"I knew what I was getting into when I promised to share all my worldly goods," he joked as he took a bite of what remained and followed it with part of her beer. "Listen, about that reservation. I know the significance of that date wasn't lost on you. I also know it's a lot to ask... to expect you to blindly accept..."

"I'll admit the timing really threw me at first. But Jack, I know you. If you were even thinking about having a fling, it wouldn't be with some high priced call girl," she said as she stole another bite. " I mean...my God... five thousand dollars? You won't even spent more than twenty bucks on a tie! Besides, I trust you, remember? I just hope you trust me enough not to totally lose it, when I tell you I asked Sam to use his connections with the Fed's to get the damn thing analyzed."

"You did what," he began; suppressing his initial urge to rage at the idea Brooke had not only told her ex-husband about such a powder keg before she'd seen fit to talk to McCoy himself about it, but had also asked the man for a favor on McCoy's behalf. Lowering his gaze and forcing himself to wait a few beats before continuing, the savvy prosecutor regained most of his composure. "And his response was?"

"Shalvoy is scum," she with a smirk.

After listening to Brooke's retelling of her conversation with Prescott, McCoy threw the empty containers in a nearby trash can and offered her his arm, as the music began to play.

"You _are_ pissed aren't you," she whispered as they made their way back to the blanket. "I know it looks like I'm trying to fight your battles but Jack, I'm your wife. We're partners. You can't expect me to just stand on the sidelines when someone takes a shot at you, whether it's literally or figuratively."

"I won't say I'm happy about Sam being involved. But how can I be angry," he said with a shy smile while they sat once more. "I'm still absorbing the fact Sam would even consider calling in markers at the CIA when it comes to me…except of course…if those markers involved having a paid assassin taking a shot at me, for old time's sake."

"Yeah well I have to admit, I thought that was a little over the top too," she said with a chuckle. "But, the point is-"

"The point is it's not going to stop with an embarrassing hotel reservation," McCoy said with sudden seriousness. "If Shalvoy wants to bury me…to try to either keep me quiet in the future or to simply destroy me because I got in his way…he will dig deep, Brooke. Nothing will be off limits. My affairs…even though they were well before our marriage… many of them were with subordinates. I have no doubt it's just a matter of time before-"

"You've had that clump of dirt thrown at you before and maaged to brush it aside."

"Maybe so, but there's my run in's with the disciplinary committee, as well as …"

Brooke frowned at her husband as his voice trailed off and his face seemed to cloud even more with frustration and…something else. Concern? Fear? Protectiveness? Protectiveness that made her instinctively reach for him.

"Jack, whatever it is, you know we can get through it together."

McCoy remained silent as he tightened his grip on his wife. He knew it would be tough to get Brooke to let go of this bone…to let the subject drop…he could pull it off for the moment, so as they could enjoy what was left of the concert… but he knew it would be next to impossible to keep it from surfacing again when they returned home.

After seeing Shalvoy use his power to not only cut short a murder trial, but to seemingly end a Justice Department investigation, get a witnesses shoved into witness protection and another deported, McCoy knew the man was capable of anything.

Bringing back to light the specifics of McCoy's personal life would be something a man like Shalvoy wouldn't think twice about doing … nor bringing to light the specifics of the personal life of the new Mrs. McCoy.

The very personal details of his wife's kidnapping, as well as the abortion she had just undergone, would more than likely be used by Shalvoy to get to the DA himself.

Giving her a misleadingly mischievous smile, as he pressed a finger to her lips and cocked his head towards the source of the music, McCoy slipped an arm around his wife and mouthed the word, "Later," to which Brooke shrugged her shoulders and rested her head on his shoulder.

"You always were a sucker for Gershwin," she whispered as she closed her eyes and silently listened to the music.

It wasn't until the medley of show tunes ended and the traditional finale including fireworks began, that Brooke squeezed her husband's arm and gave him a knowing look.

"Hey, the fireworks are up there," McCoy said he point towards the night sky.

"Maybe for now."

"Let's not do this. You know the fireworks are the reason you wanted to go tonight. For you, they're the main event. The music was just something to pass the time until the sky is dark enough for the real show."

"You know me too well, Jack. But you forget, I know you just as well. Whatever's on your mind… whatever you think it is Shalvoy has on you… you can't let it stop you from doing your job. Jack, you can't let it stop you from running next term."

"He's all ready used Rebecca once," McCoy reminded her as the sky continued to light up with color.

"The conference in California? Come on Jack, that was nothing-"

"Next time it could be something more serious," McCoy persisted.

He knew if he voiced his bigger concern…his concern about Shalvoy bringing up the abortion…Brooke would be quick to dissuade him from sacrificing his career to protect her. He also knew how deep Brooke's love for her step daughter ran.

"Becky made some disastrous choices in her teens and early twenties," he continued. "If Shalvoy sees fit to air her dirty laundry it might not just embarrass her, it could affect her relationship with that new husband of hers. She all ready has enough stress starting a marriage and preparing to become a mother at the same time. I can't risk Shalvoy playing games with her life just to get to me."

As the sky finally darkened and the crowd's thunderous applause died down, Brooke pondered her husband's concerns; finding it hard to snap back with a retort. Although neither McCoy nor his former wife Elizabeth Donnelly, had discussed specifics, Brooke had heard enough 'parent code' on their trip to France to know McCoy wasn't exaggerating the youthful exploits of his only child.

She also knew McCoy would never forgive himself if his daughter's chance to become a mother was jeopardized in anyway by something engineered to harm him.

The pair remained silent as Brooke disposed of the remains of their dinner and McCoy folded up the blanket. Opting to walk the fifteen minutes that would take to return to the loft, the pair remained silent until McCoy opened the heavy door of iron and glass that led to the their buildings entry way.

"Listen, nothing has to be decided tonight," Brooke said at last, as they walked through the next set of doors and towards the elevator. "Becky's San Diego assignment is over next week. She'll be back in Manhattan that weekend. At least let things ride until then?"

"I don't see how waiting –"

"Please Jack," Brooke said in such an uncharacteristically appeasing tone, McCoy's eyebrows immediately shot up. "It may not help, but is waiting a few more weeks to make a decision about running next year really going to hurt?"

"Only if you give me your word you won't contact Becky and tell her about my concerns," McCoy replied as they entered the elevator. Brooke smiled at his word choice She immediately noted his choice of 'contact' as opposed to something more specific like 'call' or 'email', that would have given her wiggle room to use another communication source, not specifically forbidden. "I know you want to help and I love you for it, but I don't want_ anyone_ to involve Rebecca in this."

"You have my word," she said almost too quickly, as she met his curious gaze with an expression so devoid of emotion, McCoy couldn't help but wonder what alternative avenue his wife was planning to take.


	45. Chapter 45

The following Saturday morning Bronx Expressway was nearly deserted. Before leaving the loft Brooke had paused to leave McCoy a deliberately vague note in order to alleviate any worries he might have when he woke and found his wife gone so early on the one day of the week the couple traditionally slept in.

Although she knew the decision was ultimately his to make, it saddened and angered her to see a man with so much integrity…a man who had dedicated his adult life to the law and the pursuit of justice… to even consider forgoing running for DA because of a of man like Donald Shalvoy.

By the time she walked through the beveled doors of _Jeffries & Fontana Investigations_, Brooke was more determined than ever to do whatever it took to find something to level the playing field and to help McCoy bring down the govenor once and for all.

"Brooke, I hope you didn;t have a problem finding the office," Joe Fontana said as gave her a warm hug before ushering her into his office.

"Not at all, Joe. I'm sorry to interrupt your weekend and so early-"

"Don't be silly. I can't think of a nicer way to start the day," Fontana said as he waved her concerns aside. "What do you prefer; cappuccino or espresso?"

After making them each a generous cup of cappuccino and offering his guest a continental breakfast from a surprisingly wide assortment of items from the serving tray the sat on the credenza behind his desk, Fontana leaned back in his chair and gazed across the antique desk at his client.

"Given the fact you're here by yourself, I take it this investigation involves your husband in some way?"

"It does, but not for the usual reasons a wife seeks out a PI with regards to her husband," Brooke replied as she reached into her purse.

"Well, that's good news. Although, I have to admit I didn't really think infidelity was the reason you wanted to see me," he said as he took the copy of the reservation Brooke had told McCoy about.

"How much do you know about Excalibur Exclusives, Joe?"

"I know what kind of clientele utilizes their 'services'," Fontana remarked as he slipped the heavy, dark rimmed glasses on to the end of his nose and studied the document. "I know with two ex-wives, a daughter who McCoy is still helping with student loan debt and the renovation you two have done on that loft of yours, that it's doubtful McCoy could afford a pro in Times Square, much less one that charges five thousand dollars a 'date'."

"I agree," Brooke said with a chuckle.

"More than that? I'm at a loss. But I know someone who is better informed than myself." Fontana continued as he returned document to its envelope.

"Who's your informant?"

"Monique and I have taken on a new partner," Fontana said with a pleased smile. "He has connections with the NYPD; with the detectives that uncovered the latest information on Excalibur that Jack has."

"Great, but there still may be some things even your new partner is in the dark about. Would it surprise you if I told you Donald Shalvoy is intimately involved with Excalibur?"

"It would," Fontana said as his eyes widened while he reached for his cup. "But only because I'm hearing it from you. You see Brooke, I didn't think McCoy would involve you-"

"Wait. Back up a minute Joe," Brooke sputtered as the door opened behind her. "You all ready know about Shalvoy and what that man tried to do to Jack? How-"

"Brooke, meet my new partner …well…I guess 'new' partner isn't quite true," Fontana interjected, as Ed Green gave Brooke a nod before discreetly slipping a danish off the tray.

"Detective Green?"

"Ed, please, "the other man said as he took a seat beside Brooke.

"Ed, you know about Shalvoy and Excalibur," Brooke asked curiously. "Did Jack all ready approach you two on his own?"

The two men exchanged amused glances before shaking their heads.

"If McCoy knew we knew as much as we know, there'd be one less detective at the-"

"Joe," Green snapped before shaking his head once and turning to Brooke. "I'm sorry. I know we're talking in circles, Mrs. Mc-"

"Brooke."

"Brooke. But when Joe told me you were coming in, I suspected it might have something to do with that scandal Shalvoy hushed up last month. I told Joe I wanted to help anyway I could, but you have to understand. If anyone… your husband included… finds out this information leaked-"

"Ed, if things had worked out the way they should have, the whole state would have known the truth about that man."

"And what McCoy did to try to help him," Green countered.

Brooke's eyes narrowed and she tried to gauge whether the former detective was indeed just being cautious to protect his source, or still held a grudge against the DA for pushing April Lennen into confusing to the murder of Green's former bookie.

"If you know what Jack did, then you also know, he told Shalvoy it was a one time thing. Jack was waiting just long enough for that bastard to tell his family himself, before they found out the man's dirty little secret on the evening news. Jack also told the lead ADA on the case what he did. Mike Cutter could have charged Jack then and there, if there was evidence of criminal wrong doing," Brooke shot back in the slice and dice tone she was famous for during interrogations. "Now, if you want to protect your source, so be it. If you'd rather not handle this case, I'd understand as well. But let me be clear; any wrong doing either of you undercover...be it by Shalvoy or Bill Hastings the Attorney General…or the Manhattan DA himself, is public domain, as far as I'm concerned. I didn't come here to instigate another cover up gentleman. I came here to blow the lid off of the one we all ready have. I trust you to do what's right, if you don't trust me to do the same, then we have nothing further to discuss."

Green and Fontana exchanges glances; Green's uncertain look countered by Fontana's amused look of self assurance.

"I'd have never set up this appointment to start with if I thought you'd feel differently," Fontana said as he began buttering his croissant. "We all know what will happen to the Manhattan DA's office if McCoy bows out of the running. The last thing we need is another DA's office with no teeth, right Ed?"

Green grudgingly nodded as he thought about the numerous times he'd seen Jack McCoy stick his neck out to see justice served. While Green didn't always agree with his methods, the former detective, had to admit there wasn't another attorney on either side of the aisle he respected more than Jack McCoy.

"It came out when Cy Lupo invited me to lunch with Cutter and Rubirosa right after Shalvoy made all the principal players disappear. The hooker Shalvoy was with, shutting up Beezey –"

"Connie and Mike went to Lupo," Brooke asked incredulously. "Why? I mean…I can see why you were so protective, Ed. If word got out..if Shalvoy found out…it would be the end of their careers...as well as Jack's."

"Exactly. Which is why they wanted to keep an investigation quiet. As much as they wanted to tell the L T, I pursuaded them not to. With Van Buren's troubles with the department, I was afraid it could be the final nail in the L T's coffin-"

"Investigation," Brooke cut in as she looked to each man for an explanation.

"Yes," Green said with a sigh. "They know this guy is just warming up. They want to bring Shalvoy down themselves, before Shalvoy has a chance to bring McCoy down first."


	46. Chapter 46

"So, do I get to know where you've been all day," Jack McCoy asked with a mixture of curiosity and amusement as the town car weaved through the Saturday afternoon traffic.

By the time Brooke had finished her meeting with Fontana and Green, it was almost ten. In order to be ready for the reception being held to celebrate the appointment of Manhattan Criminal Courts Judge Sheldon Taylor to the state supreme court, Brooke dashed to the Westchester salon she'd shrewdly made her hair appointment with and changed in the ladies room. She managed to get back across the bridge to meet McCoy in front of their building just as the town car pulled up.

"I had an appointment in Westchester; actually a few appointments in Westcester."

"Go on," McCoy suspisiously shot back.

"Do you really have to know where I am every waking minute," she asked with a coy smile as she busied herself with applying a fresh coat of lipstick.

"I do when I you think you're on a mission; especially if the mission of the day is to save me," he shot back.

"I kept my word, Jack. I haven't even opened an email form Becky since Thursday," Brooke said solemnly. "So stop worrying and start thinking about what you'll tell Arthur when _he_ asks if you're going to run next term."

"Arthur?"

"Yes. I spoke to Lillian Branch earlier in the week. She told me Arthur and Judge Sheldon are old fishing buddies. Arthur's flying in to attend the reception with Lillian."

"Damn it Brooke, orchestrating a meeting between Arthur and myself isn't going to–"

"Hey, don't take that tone with me, Jack. You know very good and well I've known the Branches since my marriage to Sam," Brooke replied with equal annoyance. "I called Lillian about as different matter entirely. When she told me Arthur was coming into town for the reception, it just seemed logical that he would want to talk to you, to find out how things are going since he left the DA's office. That's it; period. No conspiracy…_Although_," she continued as her tone softened. "If you're really sure about your decision, you better be prepared to explain it to those people that_ have_ supported you as DA; starting with the man that recommended you in the first place."

"Why are you making this so difficult," he asked with a sigh before the car stopped and the driver came around to open the door. "You know why I-"

"I know and I'm sorry if you think my intention is to make things harder. But, I walk with you, Jack…side by side…not silently and ten paces behind, "she said firmly as she stepped out of the car.

The afternoon went by surprisingly swiftly. The reception was at the New York Museum of Modern Art; an institution the judge sat on the board of directors for for many years. The event was unusually informal. The judge made the briefest of speeches before commanding everyone to enjoy the museum and to partake of the lavish buffet in the reception hall on the top floor.

It wasn't until after they had been through the reception line and finished sampling their choices from the buffet, that Lillian Branch waved to the couple from across the room, as she nudged the imposing figure beside her.

"I guess this is where you expect me to be a gentleman and swallow my medicine without a fight," McCoy remarked uncomfortably as he automatically buttoned his suit jacket and started to stand.

"No. This is where I expect you to get your back up and to act like an ass,"Brooke countered softly. "Remember: Arthur's a Senator now. He wouldn't know how to deal with someone who behaved any other way after spending almost a year in DC."

McCoy gave her an annoyed scowl just before acknowledging Lillian Branches greeting with warm words and a hug.

"Jack McCoy," exclaimed the aging southern belle. "I can't tell you how pleased I was when Brooke told me you'd be here today! Here, let's have a look at you," she continued as she critically appraised him with both her wide hazel colored eyes and her playfully prodding hands, that eventually tugged at the waist band of his trousers. "I thought so! Arthur must have lost twenty pounds in the first month after he was appointed District Attorney. I'd say you've lost double that, Jack. Better watch that stress level, before you wither away to nothin'!"

"Aw Lillian, leave the boy alone," the Senator interjected. "Old Jack here looks fit as a fiddle to me. 'Sides we both know it isn't the stress that causin' any drop in weight for our new District Attorney; it's those endless thousand dollar a plate chicken dinners, right Jack?"

"Sorry Lillian, I'd have to agree with Arthur on this one," McCoy replied as he shook the other mans hand. "After being a prosecutor for so many years, stress seems to be something my body's learned to thrive on. The rubber chicken… well… that takes some getting used to."

"Brooke," Branch continued as he gave McCoy's wife a chaste kiss on the cheek. "You look lovely, as always. Bein' that you two are still newlyweds, I hope Jack's managing to get home at a decent hour more often than he did when _I _was sitting in the hot seat."

"Actually, I've been the one keeping Jack waiting. The last few weeks, the Paxton case has everybody working late in my office."

"Ah, the baby seller that raped and murdered the mothers …nasty case, Brooke. How many bodies have they found so far?"

"Now Arthur, you promised," Lillian firmly interrupted before Brooke could respond. "I'm sorry you two, but Arthur promised me a 'no shop talk' afternoon and I'm holdin' him to that."

"No problem here,"Brooke replied as she seized the opportunity the other woman had unwittingly given her. "In fact Lillian, if you don't mind, I've been anxious to finish our conversation from the other day. I forgot to ask you for the name of the upholsterer you used when you redid Arthur's office. They did such a nice job and Jack's leather sofa has seen better days. I could really use your opinion on what to use to cover that old thing with," she added; deliberately avoiding McCoy's dumbfounded stare.

"Mind? Good lord Brooke, you know I love nothin' better than talkin' fabrics and colors," Lillian exclaimed as she took Brooke's arm. "Gentlemen, you'll excuse us?"

McCoy ignored the wide eyed innocence of the look she gave. He responded by shooting her a look of his own that silently shouted 'not buying it'. As the two women moved across the room, Branch picked up McCoy's hardly touched glass of champagne and raised an eyebrow.

"Now that the ladies are attended to, you ready to have a real drink?"

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A half hour and a scotch and a half later, Arthur Branch nodded solemnly as McCoy concluded voicing his sanitized list of reasons why running for a term as DA could create what McCoy described as 'undo hardship' for his family'. Branch emptied his glass and set down it on the bar before slightly jerking his head towards the door that led to the outdoor deck.

He waited until they were outside to respond.

"Arthur, no one was in the bar," McCoy began. "Even the bartender was away from-"

"It's Shalvoy isn't," the former DA cut in, using a tone that made it clear he already knew the answer. "Come on Jack. Don't kid a kidder. I smelled somthin' fishy when old Donald stepped up to the plate after I made my recommendation."

"Why didn't you say something then," McCoy demanded.

"'Cause Donald's a slippery one. In all the years I spent as DA, I never once could a find a shred of proof to back up my suspicions. No proof, no case; no case nothin' to tell," he said with a sigh.

"You could have warned me Arthur."

"I could have, but what would have been the point? Warning you would have just given you another excuse to turn the appointment down. Jack, the people needed you then, they need you now, Donald Shalvoy notwithstanding."

"You're being dramatic and short sighted," McCoy shot back. "The people need a District Attorney that can be effective. With me on Shalvoy's enemies list-"

"Now, back up a minute. Exactly when did you go from being Shalvoy's golden boy to being on some sort of enemies list?"

"The second I told him he could forget about me being his well fed pet."

"Do I want to know the whole story?"

McCoy pondered the question as he studied Branches inquiring gaze. The two men more often than not hadn't seen eye to eye when McCoy worked for Arthur Branch. Branch came to the DA's office more savvy and world wise about the political world than McCoy ever wanted to be. Yet, McCoy saw for himself, on more than one occasion, that Branch knew where the line between pandering to the voters and serving the people began to blur. To the other mans credit, Branch always stayed on the right side of that line.

Now that he was a Senator, the last thing McCoy wanted to do was involve him in the dirty dealings of New York's governor.

"No," McCoy finally responded as he shook his head. "Sufficed to say, I caught the governor with his pants down, but my office doesn't have enough proof to go public. Shalvoy knows that. He also knows if anything ever does come to light that I can use to bring him down, I won't hesitate. That makes me a liability, Arthur. I can't risk him going after my family to bury me."

"You never could let sleeping dogs lay, could you Jack," the other man said with a combination of admiration and amusement. "That's one of the reasons I appointed you in the first place."

"So you understand why a full term is out of the question?"

"Politics is a dirty business Jack," Branch said with a heavy sigh. "I understand your wanting to keep your family…especially your daughter… out of the limelight as much as possible. But you have to understand something else as well. None of us goes into this with families and loved ones out of _Pleasantville. _We've all got skeletons in the closet. I'm sure your daughters are no worse than-"

"It's not his daughter that he's worried about, Arthur."

Both men turned to the door they had walked through a few minutes before in order to follow seek out the source of the confident tone they both knew well.

"Elizabeth, how the hell are you?"

Judge Elizabeth Donnelly leaned forward to accept a peck from the Senator while McCoy turned away to gaze blindly at the view of never ending sea of sky scrapers.

"I was fine until I ran into Brooke and Lillian," she said as she set her martini glass on the flat railing beside McCoy. "Gee Jack, if you're gonna jump can you wait to do it until I'm nowhere near the scene? You know after the current wife, the next person the police like for a homicide involving a powerful public figure, is the ex-wife."

"There may not _be_ a current wife if you're here for the reason I think you are," McCoy said through clenched teeth; his gaze still on the skyline.

Branch and Donnelly exchanged startled looks and as Branch began to reply, Donnelly shook her head.

"Arthur, can I have a few minutes with him?"


	47. Chapter 47

"Before you start divorce proceedings, you should know, I went looking for you on my own. I wanted to hear for myself that you-," Donnelly began once Arthur Branch closed the door on his way out.

"Listen Liz, I don't need you _or_ Brooke to fight my battles," McCoy snapped as he swung around to face her; inadvertently sending the remains of her martini towards the street, twenty stories below them.

Donnelly impulsively leaned over the railing; shaking her head until the glass and its content were out of sight.

"Fine," Donnelly dispassionately replied as she turned her indifferent gaze towards him. "I'll remember that when they charge with you with negligent homicide in the death of whatever unsuspecting pedestrian my martini lands on. Death by martini, that'll be a new one for Cutter and Rubirosa to try to sell to a jury."

McCoy shot her an annoyed look before their eyes stubbornly locked. McCoy gave her his most intimidating scowl. Donnelly countered with a withering look of disapproval that she usually reserved for incompetent wait staff and more often, for incompetent trial lawyers.

They stood there… Eye to eye; nose to nose until… at the same moment… they each envisioned the fate of that rogue martini glass.

Then they started to snicker. Soon, the snickering became chuckles…finally… they were wiping tears from their eyes as their sides began to ache.

"I'm sorry about your drink," he said between bouts of laughter.

"I'm sorry about your impeding indictment," she replied smugly.

"Let me buy you another drink," he said as he offered her his arm.

When McCoy returned with a fresh drink for each of them, Liz Donnelly was sitting at one of the four large wicker patio tables on the deck. As he sat the martini glass in front of Donnelly, McCoy couldn't help but notice how striking she looked.

Donnelly still had a good bit of the tan she'd acquired in France. The golden glow of her skin complimented the white pantsuit and camisole she wore, as well as the blonde strands that fell just above her shoulders. Her make up was as it had been for the twenty plus years he'd known Elizabeth Donnelly; light and skillful applied. It gave her a natural look… a timeless look of beauty and grace...not the look of a woman trying to turn back the hands of time.

"What are you grinning at," Donnelly asked as she picked up the glass.

"Just thinking about that earlier causality," he lied smoothly, as he sat down across from her. "I didn't see any security or patrol officers in the bar looking for suspects. I think maybe we got lucky."

"'We'? _I_ didn't do anything," Donnelly sputtered.

"There wouldn't have been a glass to knock over if you hadn't set it down," he sagely pointed out before tasting his drink.

"I knew I should have let you jump and taken my chances with the cops," she muttered as she set her glass down.

"Exactly what made you think I was suicidal to begin with?"

"You mean besides the way you were staring off into space when I walked in on you and Arthur? Actually, when Lillian mentioned you were letting Brooke redecorate your office, I didn't think that sounded right. Then, when she asked me what I thought about covering that old war horse of yours in olive colored suede, I knew you'd either lost your mind or were ready to end it all."

"_That's_ why you wanted to talk to me," McCoy asked incredulously.

"Come on Jack, that sofa wasn't in great shape when you married _me. _Remember when I wanted to have it cleaned? God, I thought you were going to have a stroke," she replied as she rolled her eyes.

"But that remark you made about Becky? I thought-"

"I said your decorating choices were what brought me out to the patio. I didn't say they were the _only_ reason I wanted to talk to you," she said with sudden seriousness. "When I came out, I heard Arthur say something about political families and that Becky's dirty laundry isn't any worse than anyone else's. Jack, you and I had that conversation before you accepted your appointment, remember? We both agreed Becky's antics in high school…while not amusing to either of us…weren't exactly unusual. We also agreed that Rebecca is a strong enough individual to deal with anything the press digs up. After all, the drug charge is public record anyway. It's not like either of us can make it disappear and we _did _raise our daughter to take responsibility for her actions. Besides, you already accepted the appointment. Why would you be concerned about Becky now?"

McCoy lowered his gaze. He knew the longer he waited to make eye contact, the more suspicious his ex-wife would become, but he still couldn't bring himself to look her in the eyes and lie to her. It was one thing to omit the truth with his current wife. While he didn't like lying to Brooke, the lie was for her own protection. The last thing he wanted was for her to come under public scrutiny for an abortion he'd more or less pushed her into.

But, lying to Liz was something else. Even when their marriage was at its worst, he'd never been anything but blunt and to the point. _Maybe,_ he mused,_ that was part of the problem._

McCoy eyes finally looked up from his hands into the large brown eyes that patiently waited for him to answer.

"I'm thinking about not running next year."

"Oh," she said with obvious surprise. Donnelly methodically stirred her drink with the skewered olive. "And Becky's what? Your excuse for walking away from public life? Why not just be honest Jack? That used to work for you pretty well."

"You know better. You know I'd never use Rebecca, in any way."

"I thought I did, but what you're telling me doesn't make sense," she said more to herself than McCoy. "You don't want to run and you're out here telling Arthur it's because of our daughter. Then you make that idiotic remark… 'there may not _be_ a current wife if you're here for the reason I _think_ you are'," she repeated in such an exaggerated 'sing-song' voice that McCoy couldn't help but raise the sides of his lips, "As if reupholstering that damn couch of yours was some kind of a national secret and _then_… hum," she mused, before popping the olive into her mouth and leisurely dislodging it from the swizzle stick. Suddenly her eyes widened and she reached for his hand. "Oh Jack; don't tell me you're worried about Brooke?"

"Did it ever occur to anyone that after spending almost half my life in that office, I _might_ want to spend the other half doing something besides dealing with felons, let alone politicians," he demanded as he reached for his glass.

"That indignant martyr routine might work with Brooke, but it won't work with me. Jack, that office is your life. It always has been," Donnelly retorted with startling concern. "It's come before two marriages, God knows how many relationships, and … at one time… before your own daughter. Don't try to tell me now that you run the damn place, you've suddenly decided you're more interested in sailing and playing darts!"

"Maybe I'd just like some peace," he bellowed as he stood up and moved back to the railing.

"For yourself or for the woman that just gave up your child in the most politically volatile way possible," Donnelly whispered a moment later after moving beside him and taking his hand in both of hers. "That's why you want to back out of the race, isn't it, Jack? You're afraid if it gets dirty your opponent will dig up the abortion."

The anguished look on McCoy weary face told Donnelly she had hit the bull's eye… or at least…pretty damn close to it.

"Liz, here's a lot you don't know that I can't tell you," he finally said as he looked down at her. The compassionate look on her face caused the faintest of smiles to play on his lips. "But can tell you, your concern means a lot to me."

"Listen Jack, this is obviously a decision you have to make on your own. It's your career; your chance to make real change in this city. As much I as I'd like to see you grab it and run with it, you're the one that has to deal with the pressure and the invasiveness of being an elected official. But you have to base you decision on what you want and not how that decision is going to affect our daughter or anyone else; not even your wife."

"Easy to say Liz, not so easy to do."

"Have you thought about what turning this down because of Brooke will do to your marriage? Come one Jack, if I could figure it out, it's just a matter of time before the woman you live with will too," Donnelly pressed. "The last thing that woman needs right now is more guilt or for you to go around trying protect her from a decision you_ said_ you supported."

"Damn it Liz, I didn't just 'support' it I encouraged it," he sputtered. "If I hadn't, she probably would have died in labor. What kind of man stands idly by and lets his wife take that kind or risk?"

"Maybe that's what you to be ready to tell any son of a bitch that is stupid enough to throw that abortion up to you during the election," Donnelly said with an approving gleam in her eyes.

"Liz-"

"Jack, like I said, you have to decide. But before you decide not to run, think about the message not running because you're worried that abortion will come out will send, not only to the opposition and the voters, but to Brooke as well. Because, annoyed or not," she continued with a knowing smirk. "Brooke _is_ currently your wife and I suspect that's a fact that isn't going to change anytime soon."


	48. Chapter 48

_I know some of you have been anxious for more Mike/Connie. This and the next chapter will have it; the next chapter much more I promise. Hope you like where I end up taking them!_

"Did you enjoy yourself," Jack McCoy asked his wife after the couple had said their goodbyes to the Branches and another couple who had joined them dinner after the reception.

"Apparently not as much as some people… did you see all that glass in front of the main door when we left the museum," Brooke asked dubiously. "What kind of idiot would throw a glass from off the top of a twenty story building? My God, talk about a lawsuit if someone were to get hit by the thing! You could actually kill someone that way, don't you think?"

"Who knows," McCoy muttered uncomfortably as he her offered his arm before they began walking across the crosswalk filled with theater goers. "At least the reception didn't drag on and dinner was nice, wasn't it? Arthur seemed to enjoy the prime rib."

"What are you acting so guilty about," she demanded. "Oh…wait… I get it. You're still mad at me about that whole thing with Arthur and Lillian at the reception. "

"I'm not mad at you. I never was mad at you. But I do have to admit, I was more than a little surprised to hear I'm going to have a green suede couch in my office," he countered in an attempt to redirect Brooke's attention.

"Oh, that."

"Yeah that," McCoy said smugly. "And the fact that until this afternoon, I had no idea you were ready to put a multiple felonies case on the back burner just so you could start redecorating my office."

"Okay, you caught me," Brooke pensively admitted. "I wanted to give Arthur a chance to talk to you alone. You know he would have anyway. I just made it a little easier and that's _all _I did, Jack. If I over stepped I apologize. I just…I don't know… I guess I thought if you talked to Arthur you'd get a different perceptive on this whole running for office thing. I doubt any one has the perfect family and whatever concerns you have, I just can't image they're enough to stop you from doing something you're not only so good at, but something the people of this city need you to do, as well."

"Brooke, I understand," he said as he slipped an arm around her. "In fact Arthur and Liz said pretty much the same thing."

"Liz? Oh, that's right," Brooke remarked with sudden comprehension. "Liz turned about as green as the suede Lillian was gushing about when she heard us talking about the couch. So she isn't worried about Becky being hurt if you run?"

"There's more to consider than Rebecca," he replied uneasily.

As they waited to the light to chance, McCoy thought about Donnelly's remarks earlier that day. He knew what his ex-wife said was true. If Brooke found out he'd walked away from running for DA just not only to protect her, but to protect her from the political fallout about the abortion, his wife would more than likely assume McCoy …at least on some level… was embarrassed or ashamed or even having second thoughts about their decision. Yet, he knew if he told her the truth, not only wouldn't she support his decision, she'd probably place responsibility for it squarely on her own shoulders.

"Jack, you have a lot of people on your side," she replied with an urgency that made his eyes widen with interest. "Probably more than you know."

Before he could reply, Brooke began crossing the intersection that led to the street their loft was on. She knew she'd said too much as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but she was close to not caring. When Ed Green had told her that not, only McCoy's Executive ADA for Major Felonies, but an ADA just starting her career, as well as an NYPD detective who was just barely back on the force, were willing to risk everything simply because they wanted to see justice done… simply because they wanted to support Jack McCoy… she'd been moved more than words could express.

Part of her wanted to clue McCoy in as soon as she found out; to let him know the lengths members of his staff, as well as the NYPD were willing to go to set the record straight and expose Donald Shalvoy's corruption. She knew he'd be moved as well. Moved and proud of the former assistant Brooke knew he looked upon almost as a second daughter. Yet until something turned up, something solid enough to get Shalvoy thrown out of office, Brooke knew it was premature to reveal the things Ed Green had shared in the strictest of confidences.

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With a frustrated shake of his head, Michael Cutter closed the file in his hand and added it to the small mountain of folders beside him.

"This one is a bust too," he said as he rubbed his eyes and sat back on Connie Rubirosa's sofa. "Shalvoy's good, I'll say that much. Four weekends of reviewing every shred of paper we had in this investigation and nothing."

"Maybe Ed and Joe will have better luck," Lupo said as he glanced at his watch. "Listen, it's almost nine. Anyone up for some take out?"

After a brief debate between whether to order Chinese and Italian, Rubirosa settled the controversy by interjecting rave reviews about the new deli that had just opened a block from her studio apartment. It didn't take the two men long to pursue the take out menu she slipped on the table as she cleared away the empty beer bottles. While their hostess called in their order Cutter cocked his head to one side and asked the other man about the night classes he was attending at Brooklyn University.

"Aced that procedures final last month thanks to Connie here," Lupo replied as he gave the dog laying at his feet a squeeze.

"I'm not surprised," Cutter said in a voice too low for Rubirosa to hear. "Given the amount of time you've spent with Connie lately, I'd say you're probably ready to take the Bar exam and pass it on the first try."

Before Lupo could respond, Rubirosa announced the she was heading to the deli to pick up their order. Both men stood as they began to protest.

"Listen guys, its Saturday night," Rubirosa replied as she moved towards the rack by the door. "If we wait for the delivery guy it'll be another hour. If I walk a block it'll be fifteen minutes."

"Then let one of us go," Lupo said as he roused his companion. "You never know what crazies are out on the street at night-"

"Which is why Chance is coming with me," Rubirosa retorted as she snapped the leash to the dog's collar. "Come on boy, I bet you're ready for a walk."

"Wait, let me get you some cash-," Cutter began as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans.

"Forget it Mike…and you too, Cy. You guys got the last bill the last three Saturdays. There's another stack of printouts on the kitchen counter that you guys can start on while I'm gone."

"Call me crazy, but was that a note of jealousy I detected," Lupo asked once the door closed behind Rubirosa.

"You're crazy," Cutter quipped as he moved towards the stack of printouts. "What Connie chooses to do with her time after working hours is no one's business but hers."

"But," Lupo pressed while he joined Cutter in the kitchen. Once he opened the refrigerator, he held up a bottle of _John Adams_ and after receiving an affirmative nod from Cutter, handed the other man the bottle, as he raised his eyebrows and waited for a response.

Cutter shrugged his shoulders as he twisted the cap off the top of the bottle. He knew he had no business continuing this discussion. He and Rubirosa were colleagues, not lovers. Although they still continued to enjoy an occasional date …taking in a movie or going to a nice restaurant instead of eating out of cartons when they found themselves working late… Cutter knew what his young assistant was looking for was something he just wasn't ready to offer.

Not that he didn't respect her desire to marry…to be a mother… it was normal and natural and something Cutter honestly felt she deserved. He certainly didn't want to think himself the kind of man who would knowingly pursue a woman, only to gain her love and be unable to take the next logical step.

But to stand back and watch her get in deeper with a cop…a cop who had left the force to do God knows what half way around the world? A man that had just gone through a devastating loss that obviously was still affecting him…to stand back and say nothing… was that any better than just jumping in with both feet and letting a relationship with her go where ever it took them both?

"Come on Cutter, it's just you and me. If you have something to say, now's the time."

"All right. Connie's got a good heart. I know she can come across as tough at times, but once you get to know her, it becomes evident that she puts her own interests before those of a case… or a friend."

"No argument there," Lupo agreed before pausing to take a swallow of beer. "But I still don't see your point."

"My point is, she's a beautiful young woman who should be doing something other than spending her free time helping you get through your first year of law school."

"So you think I'm taking advantage of Connie," Lupo said with a snicker. "Interesting, considering this is coming from a guy that keeps her four out of five nights burning the midnight oil in his own office. Maybe you should take your own advice; if Connie's best interests are as important to you as you'd like me to believe."

"If Connie finds the work load in the DA's office too exhaustive, she's free to go somewhere that the work is less demanding," he shot back indifferently; all the while knowing that was the last thing he wanted. "I'm sure any one of a dozen defense practices in town would jump at the chance to bring an attorney of Connie's caliber on board."

Lupo moved from subtle snickering to outright laughing as he grabbed a chuck of the pile of pages Cutter held and started back towards the sofa.

"Why don't you just admit it Cutter? It's not like its some closely guarded secret: You want a clear shot at Connie yourself, don't you?"


	49. Chapter 49

"What happened to Mike," Connie Rubirosa asked fifteen minutes later.

She listened to Lupo's causal explanation while she laid out the deli items on the counter, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, as he spoke. Half way through his story, she shot him a look that caused Lupo's words to falter.

"You expect me to believe Mike up and left before he even got a bite of his hot pastrami on rye because he suddenly remembered he had a game first thing tomorrow morning? Come on Cy, I eat dinner with the man at least three times a week. Mike never walks away from-"

"I'm just repeating what the he said," Lupo replied as he bent down to give his faithful friend a bite of roast beef. "You were right, Connie. Deli was the way to go tonight-"

"Cyrus, do I have to call Mike to find out that you're not telling me?"

Lupo sighed before he took another bite of his sandwich. As glad as he was to finally have Rubirosa to himself, Lupo knew it didn't matter. It didn't matter whether he had her alone in her apartment, alone on an uncharted island, or whether they were in a crowded theater; it was obvious to him where the young lawyer's heart was.

It had been obvious since the day he'd found her on the internet, reading about Cutter's late wife.

"Maybe that wouldn't be a bad idea," he said as he abandoned his sandwich and moved towards the coat rack. "Listen, Cutter and I got through the pile on the coffee table while you were gone. As for the rest, we can finish tomorrow, if you still want me to come over."

Rubirosa shook her head in confusion and positioned herself in front of the door.

"Why wouldn't I still want … Cy, did you and Mike have some sort of fight while I was gone?"

Lupo pondered her words as he shook his head. He knew it hadn't come even close to blows. Just mentioning to the other man how transparent Cutter's feeling for Rubirosa were, had been enough to send the EADA out the door in an effort to play down the affection he felt for his assistant.

"Listen Connie, I'd be more than happy to help you get the goods on Shalvoy. But right now, I think maybe you and Cutter would be better off figuring out whatever the hell it is you two have going on, instead of using McCoy and Shalvoy as an excuse to spend every weekend together."

Rubirosa's face brightened as her temper flared. Her first impulse was to lash out… to slap him and indignantly tell him he was wrong. Instead, she ran a gentle hand over his stumbled cheek. The look of quiet understanding on his face told Rubirosa that Lupo's intention wasn't to judge or to criticize her.

"I think what we're doing is trying to be sensible," Rubirosa explained as Lupo's gaze shifted to the hand that remained against his face. "Mike and I do seem to be attracted to each other Cy," she continued while she followed his gaze. Hastily, she clasped her hands together while her cheeks took on an embarrassed tinge of red. "But we both know it would be a mistake to pursue it."

"And why is that," Lupo asked as he returned the leash to the coat rack. "I mean, you're both single; you share common interests-"

"Such as?"

"Well, the law is an obvious place to start," he said while a voice in the back of his mind quizzed him on why he was selling Mike Cutter to her when nothing would make the detective happier than to have one less rival for the young ADA's attention…and affection.

But, Lupo could sense the fact that, until Rubirosa had her boss completely out of her system, whether she acknowledged it or not, Mike Cutter would be an ever present distraction for Rubirosa.

"Come on Cy, the man lost his wife," Rubirosa reminded him as she moved towards the kitchen counter.

"Four years ago. I'm not trying to minimize his loss Connie. I'm just saying whether he realizes it yet or not, maybe it's time for him to move forward."

Rubirosa sighed as she picked up the half empty can of _Coke_ she'd brought back from the deli. As she drank the remainder of the soda she shook her head and handed Lupo his half eaten sandwich.

"I'm not going to speculate on what Mike is and isn't ready to do in his private life. That's really something Mike has to work out on his own, Cy."

"Maybe so, but …," Lupo began and then faltered as his thoughts went to a woman he had burned for…a woman he'd gone half way around the world to forget… a woman who was now free and yet in Lupo's mind, would never be free to be with him.

Rubirosa patiently watched the detective silently finish the remainder of his sandwich. With a shrug of her shoulder, she watched as Lupo took the last bit of sandwich over to the equally patient creature who had been observing them from under Rubirosa's coffee table.

Her patience wearing thin, Rubirosa took her still wrapped ham and cheese sandwich and joined Lupo on the sofa.

"If you're thinking about giving Chance that last bit of roast beef and leaving, you better think again," she said as she pulled a piece of black forest ham from between the slices of pumpernickel and held it out towards the dog who was almost grinning with delight. "I remember how much he enjoyed the ham I gave him last time we all took that walk in the park. Now, why all this interest in Mike and me?"

This time it was Lupo's turn to sigh. He did so and took the sandwich from her. After setting the food well out of reach of the curious canine, Lupo looked into large brown eyes that stared back at him with curiosity.

Impulsively, Lupo kissed her.

Although it was impulsive, the kiss was the opposite of hurried or forceful. He kissed her softly, slowly as his senses took in everything about that moment. From the light smell of her vanilla body spray to the taste of the yellow mustard on the left corner of her mouth to the warm softness of her generous mouth for that moment in time, Cyrus Lupo's world was everything that was Connie Rubirosa.

When she kissed him back, Lupo felt like he could die at that very moment and die a happy man.


	50. Chapter 50

"I thought the point of you coming over was to help Jack," Connie Rubirosa demanded when Mike Cutter opened his door.

"It was. But when I remembered Sunday's game started at nine, I thought I'd better get some sleep. I figured the rest of the printouts could keep until tomorrow afternoon," he explained as Rubirosa handed him a bag that contained his sandwich.

Rubirosa stifled her retort when she noticed her boss was not alone.

"Hi Connie," the woman sitting in the arm chair next to the fireplace said. "Sounds like things are pretty intense in Major Felonies these days."

Rubirosa shot Cutter an annoyed glance as Casey Novak stood to cross the room to join them. While Rubirosa knew that the _Manhattan Hears_ blog had made many of the DA's recent woes public record, the fact the woman McCoy had fired not even a month before was with Cutter, made her immediately concerned as to whether Cutter had clued the former ADA in on the less known and more volatile details of those woes.

"Casey, how have you been," Rubirosa responded with genuine interest. Almost everyone in the DA's office knew the circumstances surrounding the other woman's dismissal. While Rubirosa didn't fault McCoy for deciding to fire the SVU prosecutor, Rubirosa knew losing a prosecutor so committed to seeking justice for the victims she dealt with, would be a serious loss for the DA's office. "I've been meaning to call you, but-"

"Connie, don't worry about it. Hey, you guys are always swamped," Novak replied with a weak smile. "Besides, I just got back into town yesterday. I spent the last few weeks with my parents. Now that their getting over the shock of finding out what an idiot their daughter is, get to prepare for my hearing with the review board."

"How bad does your lawyer think it could will be?"

"Come on Mike, I didn't come over here to depress you guys with my stuff. You have your hands full with this mess with McCoy. You know," Novak continued thoughtfully. "I've always admired Jack. No matter what happened between us since he became DA, I really would hate to see him pushed out." The deadly glance Rubirosa gave Cutter didn't go unnoticed by the other woman. Self consciously, Novak continued as she moved towards the hall way. "Listen, I need to freshen up. Excuse me a minute."

Rubirosa watched as Novak disappeared down the hallway and found herself uneasy about how at ease the other woman seemed to be in Cutter's apartment. When she turned back to Cutter, she found him moving towards the kitchen.

"You didn't have come all the way across town just to bring me this-"

"Did you tell Casey about Shalvoy," Rubirosa snapped in a hushed tone. "I know she's your friend Mike, but-"

"Listen, I know what I'm doing," Cutter replied in an equally low tone as he reached for another wine glass. "I just opened a bottle of merlot. Can I pour you a glass?"

"No, I-I should be going," she stammered, as a surprisingly upsetting thought entered her mind.

_The way he'd left so suddenly…that lame excuse about a game… A lame excuse because here he is, having wine with...__,_ Rubirosa thought with increasing alarm. _Did he dash home because he had a date with Casey?... Oh God, and I just barged in… Well, why shouldn't he have date, with Casey or anyone else for that matter? It's not like were married…or even involved…it's not like..._

"Going? Connie, I doubt you came all the way over here just to bring me my dinner," Cutter said with mild amusement, as he reached out and caught her hand. "I have a bottle of chardonnay if you'd rather-"

"It's not the wine, Mike. I don't want to interrupt you and Casey," she replied, in a tone she hoped held no trace of the anxiety she felt. "Besides, it's late-"

"Which is why you shouldn't just run off. Let me at least call you a cab and while you're waiting you can tell me why you're here."

Before she could reply, Novak returned. Noticing the bottle on the counter, the other woman remarked she was ready for a refill and went to retrieve the empty glass on the coffee table.

"Did Mike tell you about the rape," Novak asked as she joined them. The widening of Rubirosa's eyes gave Novak her answer. "Look, I don't know how much help this will be, but I when I started in Sex Crimes, Jack's ex-wife was still bureau chief. In fact, the office they gave me wasn't just Alex Cabot's old spot; it was Liz Donnelly's first."

"Excuse me Casey," Rubirosa said as she grudgingly took the glass Cutter offered her. In spite of the fact her 'flight or flee' instinct was decidedly in 'flee' mode; her desire to help McCoy outweighed any personal turmoil she might have felt. If Casey Novak or anyone else knew something that could shut Shalvoy down and hence make McCoy's bid for DA a reality, Rubirosa wanted to hear it. "But you've lost me. I don't see how any of this has to with-"

"I'm sorry, I'm not being very clear, am I? The thing is, when I was setting up the office, everyone still thought Alex Cabot was dead. That meant I was assigned the tedious task of going through her old files. Long story short, shoved between two of the drawers was an old case file of Liz's," Novak explained as the trio returned to the living room.

"Was this a case that involved Shalvoy," Rubirosa asked hopefully as she took a sip of the wine.

"Not directly," Cutter offered as he sat down on the sofa beside her.

"The name on the file was Irene Graham," Novak said before nodding at the blank look on the ADA's face. "It didn't mean anything to me either. But I knew it should, by the way Liz reacted when I brought her the file." Novak chuckled, before pausing to drink some of her wine.

"This file upset her? I didn't think anything upset Liz Donnelly," Rubirosa said as she quietly laughed, as well. "I don't think I've seen Liz show any emotion she didn't want seen, in all the time that I've known her. Even in her courtroom, Liz always seems…I don't know…so unflappable."

"Well, this raised her flaps, all right. Not to say that she'd even discuss why," Novak quickly added. "No, she just stared at the file...with her jaw on the floor. Then when she realized what she was doing, she thanked me and pretended she had to get ready for some meeting with Branch. I'd heard enough about Liz when I was across the hall in Frauds, to know something was wrong. That's why I did a little research on 'Irene Graham'."

"Apparently, Casey found out Irene Graham had been a victims advocate here in Manhattan, prior to her marriage," Cutter interjected.

"So how does this woman's rape case tie in with Shalvoy," Rubirosa asked. "Was she his girlfriend or a family member?"

"Connie, Irene Graham is Rita Shalvoy," Novak said as she leaned forward in the chair across from the pair. "Not only is she the governor's wife; that rape case? There's no record of it in the system."


	51. Chapter 51

Rubirosa looked sharply at Cutter, who nodded as confirmation.

"When Casey told me that Irene Graham and Rita Shalvoy were one in the same, I got on the BlackBerry. There's nothing about that case in any of the public record cites. I'm going to recheck the data base at the office after my game tomorrow, but Casey certainly knows how to find information on an old rape case. If she says it's not there, it's not there."

Rubirosa's mind was spinning with questions. How could a rape case that was what… at least ten years old…just disappear? Why would anybody go to that kind of trouble to hide something like that anyway? Who would care…worse still…who would have the power to make something like that just disappear?

"What did Donnelly say when you told her you couldn't find in it?"

Cutter and Novak exchanged guarded glances before Novak started to chuckle once more.

"Hum, Connie you never worked with Liz, did you," Novak asked with obvious amusement.

"She'd all ready accepted her judgeship by the time I did my rotation in Sex Crimes."

"Right. Let's just say that if a rookie like me had not only questioned her about one of her cases, but admitted looking over her shoulder and doing unsolicited 'research' on the victim, I wouldn't have to worry about being disbarred right now, because Liz would have fired whatever was left of my ass, once she finished verbally slicing it like a ham on Easter Sunday. Besides," she added as her tone grew more serious. "At the time, I didn't realize the significance of the case. Donald Shalvoy just starting out in the political arena. It never occurred to me that its absence wasn't more than a computer glitch… the only reason I looked into it was the look on Liz's face when she read the name on the file."

As she set her empty glass on the coffee table, Novak's gaze fell on her watch and shortly the trio were saying goodbyes. Rubirosa watched as Cutter showed the other woman to the door. She had been more than a little surprised when the former ADA announced she had an early meeting the next morning and moved to retrieve her jacket from the hall closet. Novak's sudden departure seemed to rule out Rubirosa's earlier assumptions about Cutter's reasons for leaving her own apartment; a realization that inexplicably brought a relieved smile to her face.

Her smile faltered slightly, as her mind turned to her kiss with Lupo. It had been a sweet, tender and totally unexpected kiss that had at once moved and troubled the young prosecutor.

Rubirosa took an almost immediate liking to the man who had replaced her good friend Nina Cassady, at the 2 7. The time she had spent helping him prepare for his law school exams had been fun and had reminded her of her own struggle as a first year law student. She would have had to be both blind and not very bright to not have felt some attraction to the tall, dark, and ruggedly handsome homicide detective.

But, she was also aware of what everyone at the 2 7 had quickly put together. Whether their relationship was in the past, Lupo still had some soul searching to do, regarding Jenny Lupo. With Lupo visiting his niece at least twice a week, not to mention his brother's widow working at the 2 7, Rubirosa was smart enough not to want to become tangled up in an all ready complicated situation.

Besides, Lupo was right. Until she and Cutter resolved their feeling for each other, Mike Cutter would be a distraction for her. Making the situation completely unfair for any other man she chose to involve herself with.

_Why does everything have to be so complicated_, she wondered before looking up and finding Cutter's smiling down at her, wine bottle in hand.

"Have another glass while I heat up that sandwich," Cutter waited for her positive response before picking up her glass. "Well, it may not be much, but at least it explains why Jack let sentiment cloud his judgment with Shalvoy during the Beezley case."

"I don't follow," she said they returned to the kitchen. "I heard Casey tell you at the door, she just glanced at the contents of that file. That she didn't remember seeing anyone's name in it except the victims, Donnelly's, and one of the investigating officers. Why would you think Jack knew about the rape?"

"You weren't there the night I ran into the three of them in front of the elevator … Jack, Brooke, and Shalvoy's wife," Cutter began as he placed the sandwich on a plate before starting the microwave. "Anyone with eyes could see something intense was going on. When I got off the elevator, the first thing I thought was that Brooke was going to smack one of them; she looked so distraught. And Jack? I wasn't even to my office door when I heard him try to apologize to Mrs. Shalvoy and then lay into Brooke about whatever she said before I arrived."

"Wow… so what are you saying? You think Jack knew about Rita's assault? You said she was a victim's advocate in Manhattan. Do you think she met Jack back then?"

"It's possible. If they were involved…or even just friends…and he knew about the rape, he might still have a soft spot for her," Cutter remarked as he removed the plate. "Wanna split it?"

"No thanks, I ate before I came over. Well the only one besides Jack, that might know if your right, is Liz Donnelly. How do you feel about going to her for answers?"

Cutter shook his head as he tried to swallow a bite of his meal before answering. Both of them knew that although her ethics were legendary, so were the consequences that befell the wrath of the former bureau chief.

"I say, we let someone a little more 'senior' do our dirty work," he remarked with a boyish grin. "After all, Brooke is paying Ed Green and company to investigate Shalvoy. I say, let one of them bring Judge Donnelly into the loop." Cutter's own grin deepened as Rubirosa grinned back and nodded in agreement. "Now that that's settled, why don't you tell me why you're here?"

"I wanted to know why you left without even saying goodbye," she hedged, while she nervously fidgeted with the hem of her tee-shirt. "It just didn't seem like you... to leave without a word to me…especially with pastrami involved."

Cutter nodded as he took another bite in an attempt to stall, just a little longer. When he left, he knew Rubirosa would immediately see through the excuse he gave Lupo; Cutter just thought he'd have until Sunday afternoon to perfect a better lie.

When Lupo confronted him about his own feelings towards Rubirosa, Cutter couldn't even put up a good front. Rather than risk further probing by the detective, Cutter had chosen to remove himself from the situation entirely, despite the fact Lupo's own feelings for the young ADA were equally obvious.

_It's natural…only to be expected_, Cutter reasoned. _Lupo's single, sharp, close to Connie's age…hell the guy as eyes… of course he'd be interested in her. Only an idiot would think those 'study sessions' were solely academic. Who the am I to question it? At least Cyrus isn't stuck in the past…maybe he can offer Connie the kind of future she really deserves…_

"Look Connie, I'm sorry if I was rude. Not if; I'm sorry I _was_ rude," Cutter finally replied after finishing the last of his sandwich. He thought about sticking with his story. Then he looked into her eyes and knew it would be pointless to lie anymore. It was always pointless for him to try to get something by Rubirosa. Her natural intuitiveness was yet another trait that endeared her to him. "The simple truth is, Cy asked me about you. He wasn't out of line, but it got me thinking-"

Rubirosa waved away his attempt to explain as she leaned against the counter across from him.

"You don't need to explain. Mike, he asked me about you too," she said thoughtfully. "I'll admit, Cy took me by surprise. I didn't realize we were so obvious."

"There hasn't been anything to be obvious about," he reminded her as he stepped closer before lifting her chin. "But, maybe there should be."

When he kissed her, Rubirosa didn't hesitate to respond. As they wrapped their arms around each other, the kiss lingered while each of them tried to make the moment last as long as possible.

Finally, Cutter gave her a few quick kisses before leading her back to the sofa. After they sat down, they attempted to clear the air; starting to speak at the same time, only to stop and try again. Finally, between self conscious laughter, Rubirosa gestured for him to speak.

"I want you to know I haven't forgotten your feelings about us dating," he said as he leaned closer and took his hands in hers. "I realize the concerns you have about dating your boss, as well as-"

"I think we should give it a try," she cut in before she had a chance to lose her nerve completely. The look of pleased surprise on his face gave Rubirosa the courage to go on. "Listen, Mike. I think we're fooling ourselves if we think not acknowledging our feelings is going to make them go away. I'm not saying my feelings about sex have changed and I'm not saying your feelings about marriage have. But…what are we afraid of here…anyway?"

"Hum, damaging your reputation at work by dating your immediate superior," he said with a trace of humor. "As well as incurring the wrath of Jack when he finds out that-"

"You're not really afraid of Jack," she countered, more as a statement than an actual question.

Cutter shook his head as he ran a hand over her cheek.

"No, I'm not afraid of Jack," he whispered as he lightly kissed her. "I am afraid of hurting you, Connie."

"If I could handle the gossip when I was Jack's assistant, I can handle anything else the peanut gallery at work can dish out," she assured him as she settled into his arms. "What we're doing is silly. Going out after work…seeing a movie…doing things together and pretending none of it means anything. I like you Mike and I'm attracted to you. But, if you're uncomfortable…I realize there are plenty of other women out there that can offer you more than I can right now-"

"Hold it, Connie. Just because you don't want to jump in bed with me, doesn't mean you have less to offer than any other woman," Cutter retorted with sincerity that they both knew was genuine. "I won't deny I want you, but I'm not a kid. Any man that cares about you would not only respect you, but admire you for what you have to offer," he continued before smiling down at her and whispering, "You'd be an easy woman to fall in love with, Consuela."


	52. Chapter 52

At first, Casey Novak thought the scathing look she was getting from her former bureau chief was due to the fact the former ADA was late for their breakfast meeting. When Elizabeth Donnelly remained unmoved after Novak explained her reasons for being late had to do with an unexpected call from Judge Walter Bradley, Novak knew Donnelly's barely contained hostility had to do with something more. than Novak's tardiness.

Novak waited until the waitress had taken her order for breakfast before trying to add a bit of humor to break the tension.

"Come on Liz, lighten up. You look like you found out I killed somebody."

"You haven't, but I'm about to," Donnelly shot back, in a tone so icy Novak didn't have to ask who Donnelly's victim was about to be.

Barely controlling her fury, the judge glanced around the crowded restaurant and threw some money down before drinking the last of her coffee.

"Damn it Casey, not only did I excuse myself from listening to your case because we worked together; I did it so that I could try to salvage what's left of your career! Then you turn around and pull a stunt like-," she hissed as she stood; abruptly smiling broadly and holding out her hand as the current Bar Association President and his wife moved towards them. After several minutes of nauseatingly pleasant small talk, the couple moved on and Donnelly shot Novak a dagger look. "I can't do this here!"

"Shit," Novak murmured under her breath as she jogged around the rows of tables to catch up to Donnelly beforee she reached the door. "Liz, please! Whatever I did, I'll make it right. Just tell me happened!"

By the time Novak returned from the restaurant with breakfast in a box for each of them, Donnelly was sitting a few yards away on a bench watching the passersby as they moved across a small bridge and into _Tavern on the Green. _Although she looked calm and relaxed in the pale blue pantsuit she wore, Novak could tell even with her eyes concealed by fashionable sunglasses, Donnelly was far from calm.

As Novak approached, Donnelly stood and motioned for her to follow.

It took them several minutes of speed walking before Donnelly was satisfied she'd found a place in the park that was secluded enough to ensure they would not be over heard or disturbed by anyone. She sat down on the bench and stared at the grass that surrounded her while she waited for Novak to catch up.

She still couldn't believe what she'd been told, just minutes before she was about to leave to meet Novak. She had almost let the machine get the call. But, then she remembered her daughter was back in town. Her pregnant daughter, who might be calling with a problem or a question that couldn't wait.

When she impulsively grabbed the cordless phone off of her desk, the last person she expected to find herself talking to was a former NYPD officer who was not only working for her ex-husband's current wife, but was asking questions about a case that no one was supposed to know existed.

"What was it Casey," Donnelly demanded as she snatched the box the younger woman offered her. "Some cheap attempt to get back at me for doing McCoy's dirty work? For being stupid enough to try to cushion the blow before you had to face the DA yourself? Revenge, is that what motivated you to –"

"No! Of course not," Novak passionately declared as she instinctively squeezed the older woman's arm. "Liz, you're not just my boss… my former boss… I consider you a friend. I've never forgotten the way you defended Elliot and me in civil court… clearing your calendar, working for us pro bono… My God how could I ever want to hurt you after that?"

The struck look on Novak's face begged Donnelly to believe her and as livid as she was, Donnelly desperately wanted to.

Donnelly watched as the younger woman hastily wiped tears away from her eyes and began an explanation that confirmed much of what former SVU detective Monique Jeffries had told Donnelly earlier that morning. As Novak spoke, Donnelly's last conversation with DA Jack McCoy ran through her mind. Suddenly the reasons for the concerns he'd voiced about both their daughter and his current wife made much more sense.

"What exactly did Shalvoy threaten Jack with," Donnelly quietly asked as she solemnly handed Novak a small package of tissues.

"Mike didn't say. He knows how dangerous it is for Jack if more people know what's going on between Jack and the governor-"

"It's dangerous for all of you, not just Jack," Donnelly shrewdly pointed out. "Jack is at the end of his career. People like Connie and even Mike Cutter, are really just starting out. Shalvoy could destroy them as easily as he takes breathe. This is the last thing someone in your position should be involved in, Casey. Cutter should know that."

"It's my fault, not Mike's," Novak admitted as she wiped the last of her tears away. "I asked about the office. While we were talking, I noticed something's I shouldn't have on his coffee table. Mike tried to stuff the papers into his briefcase as soon as he realized what I was looking at, but I'd already seen Shalvoy's picture," she explained before shrugging her shoulders. "What can I say? All those years in the DA's office... I guess I was suffering from withdrawal. I know it's stupid, but I just wanted to…to feel like I was still part of the team."

Donnelly sighed. She knew all too well how addicting working for the DA's office was. Even now that she was a judge; there were times she found herself aching to be sitting in the prosecutor's chair. With a grimace, Donnelly set her glasses on the forgotten take out box and revealed her own shiny eyes before opening her arms.

"No matter how many times you screw up," she said with a smirk, as she held Novak as if she were her daughter. "You'll always be part of my team, Casey."


	53. Chapter 53

Two small tissue packets and an hour and a half later, Donnelly watched as Novak disappeared into Cenrtal Park and the afternoon crowd. After a short internal debate as to whether she should go to the gym and sweat out the stress of the morning or hiking back to _Tavern on the Green_ to drown her sorrows, the judge opted for the solitude of someplace dark and quiet to plot her next move.

"What a mess," Donnelly said under her breath after the bartender sat a martini glass down in front the judge.

She glanced at her watch and realized if she didn't call Don Cragen soon, she was going have one more problem to deal with. Yet, she knew if she called, he'd sense her distress and immediately presses her for answers…answers that would involve yet one more person in what she viewed as a disaster run a mock. The commander of the Manhattan SVU had enough problems without of his own, without adding one of the DA's problems to the pile.

After swearing softly, Donnelly picked up the glass and saluted the empty lounge.

"Well, here's to you Jack. Maybe if you'd listened to me, this mess would never have happened," she quietly declared before bringing the glass to her lips.

As she drank her martini, Donnelly sat back in the high leather chair and let her thoughts drift back to that night … the night she was working late and had just started to review the last case in her 'In' tray, when she looked up to find her ex-husband darkening her door way…

"_Don't tell me you're here to go another round about Rebecca," Donnelly began, after hearing a light tap on her already open door and finding the tall figure that held a helmet in one hand and a satchel in the other, waiting for permission to enter. "Jack, it's high time our daughter learns there are consequences-"_

"_I'm not here about Rebecca. I'm here about a case," he said as he closed the door behind him._

_Elizabeth Donnelly stared up at the haggard figure that was now looming over her cluttered desk. The senior Sex Crimes ADA warily slipped the wide black rimmed glasses from her face to the center file she had been reading._

"_Then you must be here about the Carelli plea," Donnelly continued, with a condescending snicker. "If Adam thinks sending my ex-husband down here is going to make me any less opposed to dealing that douche bag down to -"_

_Donnelly could see see his annoyance in the glance he shot her, but she didn't care. She knew how much McCoy hated to hear her talk that way… coarse, hard; vulgar were the words he would use to describe it… which was exactly why she'd done it. _

_Although the pair was a year shy surviving their daughters teenage years without coming to blows physically, those years had strained what had been an amiable and restrained relationship, between the former spouses. While the pair still worked hard to put the needs of their child before their own, the manipulations of their daughter had left both of them wary and worn down. Often, one or both of them found themselves launching pre-emptive strikes to raise a firm roadblock to a decision that was not mutual regarding their wild child._

"_Adam didn't send me," he uncomfortably snapped as he moved her glasses aside and picked up the file. _

"I_f you're here to put in your two cents worth, it's my case Jack and even if you are Executive Assistant-"_

"_If you'd just listen for a minute, maybe you be better able to assess which knife is the right one for tonight's round of slice and dice," he shot back in a tone that told her there was more to his visit than a disagreement about a case. "It's not Carelli that brought me down to your dungeon. I want to talk about the Graham case."_

_Donnelly laughed softly as she pointed to the chair across from her._

"_Dungeon, huh? I guess that makes us even for the douche bag remark," she joked in a tone that was almost cordial. "Alright, the Graham case. I know you were the one that she called when they brought her in to the ER. Since Becky hasn't mentioned a 'Rita' or 'Irene', I'm assuming Miss Graham is a friend of yours, as opposed to something more?"_

"_Rita and I have worked on several cases together since she started with Shelter Services a few years ago. She's a nice kid, Liz."_

"_I agree and I'm sorry, Jack. It's never easy to see someone you personally know be victimized," she said gently. "You have the case file. Everything we have is in it. From what the detectives at the 1 6 tell me, there's a chance-"_

"_She wants it dropped Liz," he interjected before opening the file. _

"_What do you mean 'she wants it dropped'? Jeffries and Munch just need a little time-"_

"_I just came from the hospital. Her fiancée was there… some hot shot political hack named Shalvoy. He talked a good game about wanting to see the animal that did this put in a cage, you know, before he 'did something he'd regret'."_

"_Go on," Donnelly said as she rolled her eyes at the machoistic comment they had both heard more times than they could count._

"_Once he left, Rita begged me to get my hands on the records… including any copies there might be. They're getting married right before the spring election and she's afraid the rape will be sensationalized and end up hurting Shalvoy's chances of being elected to the state Senate," he explained as he flipped through the pictures of Rita Graham's battered and broken body. _

"_Jack, she's a victims advocate," Donnelly exclaimed. "How can she think –"_

"_Because she's seen firsthand what a rape victim goes through on the stand," he said before tossing the file back on the desk. "She seems to think if defense counsel breaks her on the stand, somehow it's going to reflect on Shalvoy."_

"_It sounds like she's still in shock to me…she's not thinking clearly Jack," Donnelly remarked as she thumbed through the photos all the while shaking her head. "Not that I blame her given the extent of her injuries. She's lucky to be alive. Do you think the fiancée put her up to this?"_

"_It's possible," McCoy admitted as he stood up and restlessly began to pace. "But, Rita's always seemed fragile. I didn't think she'd last this long as an advocate. She feels the pain of the victims too deeply… maybe that's why now that she's become a victim herself…," he continued before helpless throwing his hands up. " All I know is she wants the whole thing to go away. I've already talked to the investigating officiers, Liz. Without her testimony, if and when the time comes to go to trial, you haven't got a prayer."_

"_Jack, did you even try to talk her out of this," Donnelly demanded; immediately regretting the question. She raised a hand of surrender to acknowledge McCoy's _'_are you kidding me' expression. "Well, it doesn't matter. The charges are filed. Unless Miss Graham wants to face charges of her own-"_

"_Come on, Liz. We've both used that bluff more times than I can count and its worked fewer times than I have fingers," he countered knowingly. "You're case is dead in the water without Rita."_

"_Well, if that's how it is, why didn't she contact the attorney of record," Donnelly demanded with false bravado; clutching at the few remaining straws she had. "You know I have to signed off on the paperwork, why didn't you tell her to call me-"_

"_I tried," he said with a defeated sigh. "She said facing you… a strong woman who in her words is 'ten times the advocate for victims' that she ever was… would just make what she had to do harder. She asked me to have you send her paperwork-"_

"_Jesus Jack, when did you become this woman's messenger," Donnelly demanded in frustration._

_McCoy pondered the question, as he leaned against the single window in the office. After a few moments, he turned towards the window._

"_The night she was raped and nearly beaten to death. The night she had the ER call not her fiancée, not her mother in Vermont, not even another victim's advocate, but me. Liz, we've both seen enough victims to know how significant that was," he explained as he turned to face her. "As a prosecutor, I'm appalled that she doesn't want to go forward with the charges. As a man...as a father... I have to admit, the idea of this woman going through the ordeal of a trial appalls me more. You used to tell me part of empowering a victim is allowing that victim to control as much of the case as they can. You and I both know part of that empowerment is allowing the victim to decide if the case goes forward or not. I'm asking you to help me give Rita back some sense of control."_

"_Oh Jack," she softly whispered before closing the file. "Fine. I'll send her the paperwork in the morning."_

"_Thanks Liz," McCoy replied with a relieved smile, before he returned to the front of the desk to lean across and give his ex-wife an unexpected kiss on the cheek. McCoy watched with amusement as Donnelly ran a thoughtful hand over the spot he had kissed. "Since this seems to have turned into one of our more civil moments, I want you to know, I realize you were right about Rebecca and the pot thing. I know it wasn't easy for you to leave her in lock up for the night. I never should have allowed her to sway me into questioning your judgment when she got the night Sargent at the 1 9 to let her make that second phone call."_

_Donnelly smiled up at him and did something she couldn't remember doing in years. McCoy's smiled turned into an ear to ear grin, when he felt her reach for his hand._

"_We both could have done better than night…we probably could have done better the last seven years…as well," she added with a chuckle. "Maybe when she turns twenty you and I can find our way back to being friends again."_

"_Friendly always. But friends," he replied with a gleam in his eye that reminded her of another time."Sorry love, it's just not in me," he continued before kissing her forehead._

"_Always the charmer, aren't you McCoy," she teased as he started for the door._

"_Well, I don't know how 'charming' you'll think I am in a second," he said as he leaned against the door, looking as if he'd just remembered something he'd forgotten. "About the paperwork… the case files and DD5's-"_

"_Oh no Jack, don't go there and don't even think about asking me to go there for you," Donnelly warned. "It's one thing to make it easier for her to drop the charges, but I'm not willing to risk jail time, as well as being disbarred, for anyone. Not for a victim, not even for you."_

"_You know me better than that; I'd never ask you to take that kind of risk. When you're done with the file, just send it up to me," he said causally as he reached for the door handle. "I'll do what needs to be done."_

_Before she had a chance to argue, McCoy had turned on his heel and vanished down the hall._

Donnelly stared blindly into the bottom of her martini glass as she regretfully shook her head.

She knew exactly were that file would end up, along with any and all paperwork McCoy could get his hands on. Unwilling to stand by and watch her former husband risk not only his own career, but the reputation of the DA's office should his uncharacteristic 'act of kindness' ever be discovered, Donnelly made a mental note to copy any and all documents she could get her hands on that pertained to the Graham case. Once they were in her possession, she had taken them to a high end print shop and personally copied each and everyone.

The copies had gone to McCoy to keep him blissfully unaware that the original were safety tucked away in the back of her file drawer… as insurance should anyone ever ask about the suddenly non-existent case.

Only to be forgotten until Novak's innocent discovery, years later.


	54. Chapter 54

The cautious thirty-something guard, who's name badge declared him to be 'Simmons', informed the DA that his wife was in a meeting with Sam Prescott. McCoy's own identification gave the younger man enough confidence to honor McCoy's request to wait for his wife in her office.

Once alone, McCoy glanced at his watch and frowned slightly. It was a few minutes before seven. He knew first hand, meetings at the end of the work day between the DA and his Executive Assistant tended to be lengthy affairs.

McCoy walked behind her desk and opened the bottom drawer of her desk. He was disappointed to find only one and a half bottles of water, a bottle of_ Perrier_, a half eaten bag of barbeque potato chips and pile of take out menus that rivaled the colection that sat in his own bottom drawer, in Manhattan.

What he wouldn't have given to find a bottle of scotch at that moment.

Unconsciously, he unbuttoned the top button of his white dress shirt and began to loosen his tie, after tossing his suit across the desk and onto the chair he had already dropped his satchel on. With a heavy sigh, he sat down in the high backed desk chair and glanced at the open file on Brooke's desk.

It was the case file for the Paxton case. Although he knew better than to delve into a casefile that wasn't his own… or in this case… even in his jurisdiction, McCoy slipped his reading glasses from his shirt pocket and almost defiantly skimmed the cover page that held Brooke's latest notes on the case.

After hearing what he had at lunch that day, McCoy wasn't in the mood to play by anybody's rules. Least of all his wife's.

Fontana, Green…even the co-owner of Fontana's P.I. firm, Monique Jeffries… he could almost understand Brooke bringing them into the loop. He could almost understand her desire to hire such a seasoned team of investigators to try to help her help him, with the Shalvoy mess.

But for her to know people like Lupo and Connie … people who were still kids the eyes of the DA… to know they, along with Mike Cutter, were digging into something that could end their careers in a heartbeat and she _still_ didn't immediately bring that information to McCoy?

That was what made him jump on the first train out of Manhattan, after his last meeting came to an end.

That and the fact one of the two things McCoy was determined to keep from coming out and causing harm to someone he cared about had not only come out, but had been discovered, because of his wife's inability to honor his wishes and stay out of it.

As he read the familiar handwriting, McCoy could hear her voice in the back of his mind. It was a sound that made him abruptly slam the file shut in frustration. At that moment, McCoy wasn't sure which woman he was more disillusioned by; his current wife or the woman he'd married almost thirty years before. The woman that had trusted his judgment so little that she second guessed him by making a copy of a file that never should have never existed.

The look for injured disbelief on Elizabeth Donnelly's face when he began bellowing in her chambers that afternoon, was identical to the look McCoy had given her, when she revealed the existence of that file.

"_This is exactly why I had you meet me for lunch here, instead of in a public place," Donnelly shot back with her trademark of cool superiority; a tone that only served to further ignite the rage in McCoy. "If you want to yell, yell. The whole floor will be empty until one o'clock. You can shout until you vocal cords snap, but if you think I'm going to apologize for covering not only your ass, but my own-"_

"_Why in hell would _think_ you had to? How could you think I'd be stupid enough to not only risk my career, but yours as well," he thundered. "My God, we still had a child living at home? Did you really think I'd risk Rebecca having both her parents not just unemployed, but facing jail time? If you could think I'd do that, apparently you never knew me at all!"_

"_Now wait just one damn minute," Donnelly thundered back as she stood over the desk, pushing the half eaten plate of Chinese food to one side. "I didn't get you down here so you could use me as verbal punching bag; especially when this is your fault," she shot back hotly, as she impatiently wiped her eyes. "What the hell was I _supposed _to think? You came down to my office and handed me some sob story to soften me up before you asked for a file you all but admitted you were going to destroy…"_

"_I _never_ said-"_

"_Oh come on Jack," Donnelly knowingly interjected as she tried to regain control of her emotions. "You said you'd 'do what had to be done'. I wasn't an idiot then and I'm sure as hell not one now. There's no record of the case in the system; no file, nothing on the databases, nothing at One PP. If you didn't destroy the file, where the hell is it, Jack?"_

"_Sitting in one of the couple hundred accordion files on one of the shelves in my office," he smugly replied. "If I'd have realized you had so little faith in me, I'd have told you where I was was putting the damn thing, that night in your office."_

_The crestfallen expression on the judge's face made McCoy almost feel sorry for his ex-wife. Her regret and shame were obvious by the look on her face, as was the fact she immediately realized what her misguided attempt to protect them both had resulted in._

"_You mean you've had it the whole time?"_

"_It was the only way I could think of to keep it out of the public record and not leave either of us open to problems if there was ever any question about it," he said as he reached for the plate sitting on the edge of her desk. "I managed to pull some strings and get my hands on all of the SVU paperwork as well. I figured if Adam or the Chief of D's… whoever… started asking too many questions, I'd take the heat and say I asked for it after the investigation was closed and never got around to forwarding it to central records," he explained brusquely before pausing to take a few more bites. "So, can Novak keep her mouth shut?"_

"_The last thing Casey wants to do is cause problems for you or the office," she assured him; ignoring the skeptical look he shot her. "Whatever Casey did, she did because she thought it would help. I wouldn't still be representing her when she goes before the review board next week if that weren't the case._

_Totally dismayed not only by her hedging, but her last remark as well, McCoy gave up on the food and threw his hands up in the air; his eyes wide and his patience exhausted._

"_You personally took my complaint to the review board and now you're defending her?"_

"_I filed the complaint because you had a valid cause for concern. I spoke to Casey because I agreed it would be better for her to hear about it from someone other than the District Attorney who threw her poor judgment in her face once before-"_

"_I was doing my-"_

"_She's out of the DA's office, Jack. I never said I'd stand by and watch her talent be completely wasted. If she goes before the board alone, the least she faces is seeing her license suspended; at the most disbarment," Donnelly shrewdly continued after cutting off his protest. "If I go with her, she may get off with a reprimand."_

"_And you can live with that?"_

"_I didn't invite you here to rationalize a decision I've already made," she shot back with an icy stare before reaching for the carton at the center of her desk. After glancing down, Donnelly gave him a hint of a half smile, as she took a chop stick and thrust it downward. "You used to assume the last pot sticker was yours… drop Novak or it's mine."_

_McCoy cast his eyes downward while he tried to decide on his next course of action. He wasn't sure whether to chastise her for trivializing what he viewed as a serious breach of ethics or to move on to another question that was nagging him more. When he looked up, Donnelly was threateningly holding the prized food item in front of her mouth._

"_Do what you want; you will whether I like it or not."_

"_One of the benefits of not being your wife anymore," she teased as she leaned over and deposited the pot sticker into his waiting mouth._

"_Like being my wife ever made a difference, once you set your mind to something," he shot back sarcastically between bites. "You said something about her doing something to try to help, so I assume there is more?"_

_He could tell by the way her smile faltered, that he was right. He braced himself for what he knew had to be more bad news._

_When Donnelly revealed who Novak had discussed the Graham with and why, McCoy thought he'd heard the worst. When his former wife revealed who was helping them and worse still, who had else knew about the team of former NYPD officers and soon to be former NYPD officers and New York County prosecutors if Donald Shalvoy got wind of their investigation, McCoy saw in his minds eye not only the end of several promising careers, but quite possibly the end of yet another marriage._

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"Damn it, how can she do this job and not have a bottle in the office," Jack McCoy said under his breath after glancing at his watch and realizing almost an hour had gone by sinse he started waiting for his wife's return.

When he turned towards the credenza to broaden his search, his eyes fell on the small collection of framed pictures that were scattered among the brown accordion files, legal journals, and reference books. One was of a smiling redhead wearing a wide grin and a baseball jersey… a young woman who was beginning to look more and more like her aunt, as she grew closer to womanhood. Another was of McCoy's' wife and Jake Cohen taken several years earlier, at what appeared to be a costume ball. The final photo was the one McCoy chose to pick up.

It was a picture Becky had taken when the couple arrived in Monte Carlo during their trip to Europe. They were standing with their arms around each other both very tan, both happy and rejuvenated after the sailing trip that had become half belated honeymoon, half journey to rediscovering each other after the loss of their child.

McCoy stared at the picture of himself in the _World's Greatest Grandpa_ shirt Brooke had brought him shortly before they set sail. It had only been a few months since the trip, but suddenly it felt like it had been another lifetime ago.

_Why didn't you come to me, _he silently asked the glowing face in the picture. _How could you let this go on and not say a word…I thought you knew me, Brooke… My God, I thought I knew you…_

Abruptly he replaced the picture and abandoned his search. Instead, he pulled back the chair. Tired of waiting, McCoy was suddenly anxious to be as far away from Brooke and her office as he could be, as quickly as he could be. He vaguely wondered when the next train to Manhattan left the Islip station and opened the top drawer of her desk, then the others, hoping to find a schedule.

When he reopened the bottom drawer, he impulsively reached for the stack of take out menu's and froze he saw what lay under them.

Tears filled the dark eyes as he slumped back into the chair and pulled the legal pad from the drawer. The top page contained with the usual doodles his wife made while on a call or pondering a difficult passage while writing arguments for court. But instead of a closing or questions for a defendant, the rest of the page was filled with names, all of which were based on or variations McCoy's name.

John James McCoy Jr., John James McCoy II, Jack McCoy, Jack James McCoy, James Malinowski McCoy…the list went on for the length of the page, with one name distinctively circled in red with a large happy face beside it in the form of a heart.

Jackson Jacob McCoy.

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"…like it said, I'll address it in redirect," Brooke remarked as she opened her office door. "And again in my closing. No way in hell am I letting the jury forget how Paxton got his hands on those babies."

"Mind if I slip in and watch the show," Sam Prescott inquired as the pair lingered in the doorway. "I'm gonna be in the courthouse anyway and I'd like to see the look on defense counsel's face when you pull the rug out from under him."

"Admissions free. Come one come all," she answered with a chuckle before turning to find McCoy behind her desk and staring down at the pad in his hand. "Jack? What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," he said softly without looking up.

"Well, it looks like you won't need a ride to the station after all," Prescott said as he and Brooke exchanged wary glances. "Danielle waitin' for me, so I better run. 'Evenin' Mal; Jack."

"Tell Danielle I said 'hello'," the other man remarked as he slipped the pad back into the drawer and stood.

Brooke waited until the door closed behind her to set the pad in her hand on the desk and reach for his hand.

"I'm sorry you had to find that," she said immediately aware of what he'd had as soon as he reached into the bottom drawer. "I should have gotten rid of it a long time ago."

"I'm glad you didn't," McCoy replied as he brought her hand to his lips. "Seeing it reminded me of that day in the cab… the day we talked about names for the baby. It was a happy day… a happy time. Neither of us should forget it."

Brooke watched him as he tenderly kissed her finger tips and silently joined him on the other side of the desk.

She ran her free hand over this cheek and looked into his troubled eyes as reasons for his disturbed state filled her mind. For him to be standing in her office at eight seventeen on a weeknight was alarming enough. But his grave manner…shoulders slumped, his face so haggard and drawn, his lips so cool against her skin… caused her even more alarm than his unexpected trip to Long Island.

"When did you eat last," she asked with real concern after noting the feverish feel of his forehead. "You look like hell and-"

Without answering, McCoy replaced her hand with her mouth after suddenly slipping a hand round her waist to bring her to him.

"I ate with Liz," he said a few minutes later as he pressed her into an embrace. "She told me some thing's I found disturbing. But before we discuss them, what about you? I know how you are about eating on the run. How fast is the delivery out here? Unless you'd rather -"

"I'm fine. I had something at three," she answered impatiently. "Just tell me what happened. You said you saw Liz… did something happen to Becky," she pressed with growing alarm. "Oh God Jack, the baby… did-"

"No, Everyone's fine. It's nothing like that, I promise," he assured her; kissing her quickly before pulling her clutch bag out of the top drawer.


	55. Chapter 55

They chose a restruant a few blocks from the DA's office. By the time they ordered, only another couple remained of the dinner crowd and they were in the process of collecting their coats.

It wasn't until the waitress had brought their order of clam chowder and departed, that McCoy was willing to reveal more about the motives behind his unannounced trip to Islip.

"All right, I'm eating. You've all ready ruled out illness… your own or anybody else's… as your reason for coming out here. Please Jack, tell me what's going on. "

"Maybe if I tell you what I learned today, that will clarify things for you," he quietly began after he glanced around toassure himself that the wait staff was out of ear shot. "I know you hired Fontana & Jeffries Investigations to dig up dirt on Donald Shalvoy. I know _you_ have been aware that Connie, Cutter and Lupo are neck deep in doing the same thing and that you chose to keep me in the dark. I know because of that decision, Casey Novak and Liz inadvertently found themselves involved in something that could end their careers and the careers of everyone involved, if Shalvoy ever gets wind of what's been going on. I know you were thinking of me. What I don't know is how could you be so reckless with the lives of other people," he continued a tone that was a mix of outrage and disappointment. It was the same tone Brooke remembered him using the night of his showdown with Donald Shalvoy. "How could you do this? How could you think any job would be worth risking even one of those people?"

As she listened, the spoon in Brooke's hand shook so badly that it was all she could do to lower it back into the bowl without leaving a trial of white blotches on the table in front of her. She waited until he finished before trying to meet the disappointed stare fixed on her from the other side of the table.

"I didn't keep quiet to promote your career," she answered evenly, as she silently refused to give him the satisfaction of illiciting any kind of emotional response from her. "I wanted you to have deniability if something went wrong. If anything turned up... if Fontana and Green were able to trace that copy Shalvoy sent me of the room reservation in your name or if they found anything else... I would have gone to you immediately. Nothing has turned up, I didn't see any reason to involve you."

"Isn't the fact I'm your husband reason enough," he demanded as he reached for the glass of scotch. "My God Brooke, you told me when you went to Sam and he involved the CIA! If you could tell me _that _why-"

"Are you angry because I didn't tell you or are you angry because you think I'm a reckless idiot that almost got half of Manhattan's legal community disbarred," she asked in an voice so low, that it was almost inaudible.

As he ate McCoy pondered her question and realized that, in order to answer her question truthfully, he would have to reveal the information Novak had discovered. Already tired from a long day at work, as well as the revelations made that day, McCoy didn't relish the idea of making Rita Shalvoy's rape yet another topic for them to debate.

McCoy's silence persisted long enough for the pair to return their attention to the bowls in front of them. The silence acted as an invisible wall between them as they finished their soup.

"I'm sorry."

The sound of her voice startled him; not only because he was lost in his thoughts, but because of the detached tone it held. He looked up from the soup and immediately felt a twinge of remorse when he cuaght her hurriedly wiping her eyes.

"I'll call Joe first thing in the morning and have him close the investigation. As for the others… their activities are out of my hands. If you can think of a way to-"

"I already spoke to Connie, Mike, and Lupo. I told them to shut it down and be damn glad I found out about what they were doing before Shalvoy did. They weren't happy, but I wouldn't let it go until they assured me they were done."

"It's probably for the best," she quietly agreed. "Sam told me tonight, his friend in Langley wasn't able to turn up anything either. If the CIA couldn't turn up any evidence of wrong doing by Shalvoy, it's doubtful anybody can. I guess if you can live with Shalvoy winning this round, I can find a way to as well."

"It never should have been about 'winning', Brooke."

McCoy's self righteous tone caused his wife to shoot him an amused glance before she laughed softly while reaching for her glass of wine.

"The man invaded our lives, Jack. When he sent me that copy of the Excalibur booking, it was a declaration of war and you know it. If it's easier for you to lash out at me and ignore that fact, fine. I'm not going to fight about it. I don't have the time or the energy to deal with the emotional turmoil a battle with you is going to generate. Right now, I need to stay focused on nailing a murderer to the wall tommorrow morning, so if you need to paint me as the evil, conniving shrew that dared to keep you in the dark-"

"Brooke, you were reckless with other people's lives," McCoy sharply shot back.

"And you're gonna make damn sure I pay for that recklessness, aren't you Jack," she fired back in a tone that was as quiet and it was defiant. "I admit it…I made a bad call... mistake; something you can't possibly understand because obviously _you_ never make mistakes."

"That's a cheap shot and you know it," he said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "I never said I was infallible, I'm just not-"

"Look, before you hand me my head on a platter, can you wait until I'm finished with Paxton or is punishing me tonight worth throwing my rhythm off for his cross in the morning," she asked as she reached for the bag.

"It doesn't look like I have a choice," he retorted as she stood.

"I need to go back to the office. I still have a cross to prepare for. Thanks for the soup," she answered indifferently before taking a few steps and turning back to him. "Oh and Jack, don't wait up for me. Since we both need some time to cool off, I think it would be best if I stayed here tonight."

"If that's what you want," he stubbornly retorted, not quite fast enough to finish before she was out of earshot and out the door.


	56. Chapter 56

Although his sister married Jack McCoy almost a year earlier, Andrew Malinowski still hadn't come to terms with the man becoming a member of the family. While Malinowski paced the waiting area not far from McCoy's office door, the brawny firefighter wondered once again, how his sister could have forgone a chance to reconcile with Sam Prescott and instead, marry a man she'd been seriously involved with for barely a year.

McCoy was a man Malinowski viewed as merely a distraction… someone the women's magazine's might call a 'transition' man… whose role in Brooke's life _should_ have been to provide an avenue back to the land of the living after five years of mourning the_ true_ love of her life. A man that, had he_ really_ had Brooke's best interests at heart, would have stepped aside to clear the way for her to return her first husband.

"Mr. Malinowski, come this way please," the pleasant blonde standing behind the desk began. "Mr. McCoy just called. He's on his way from the courthouse now. He asked me to have you wait for him in his office," she explained as ushered him into the office. "Are you sure you wouldn't like something while you're waiting; coffee, tea, maybe a soda?"

Malinowski shook his head while he politely declined. Once alone, McCoy's brother in law surveyed his surroundings; first noting the New York University diploma, then glancing at the photo of McCoy, his daughter, and Brooke that sat at the center of the desk.

Malinowski smiled in spite of himself when he saw the image of his sister… a girl that used to run screaming when he teased her with worms on family fishing trips… looking so happy and relaxed with McCoy's prized blue gill just inches from her.

The image was a far cry from the woman he found on his door step only hours earlier.

"_They say you can't go home again," Brooke began with a rueful smile_. _"But they also say family takes you in when nobody else will. So, what do you say Andy? Any way you'd let your adulterous, baby killing sister catch a few hours sleep in your guest room, so she can have her wits about her for court in nine hours?"_

_Upon hearing his sister repeat the words he'd hurled at her a few months before, Malinowski could feel his face warm, while a sense of shame overwhelmed him. Malinowski hadn't heard from his only sibling since voicing his strong opposition to her decision to terminate her pregnancy. It didn't take her red eyes or her forlorn expression for him to know there had to be more to unexpected her appearance on his door step than her need for a place to sleep that night. _

_"You know I'd never turn you away."_

_After embracing his sister, Malinowski led her past the entry way and into the kitchen where he'd just started a pot of coffee brewing._

"_You just get home," she asked when she noticed the coffee._

"_Lindsay picked me up from the airport about an hour ago. I just got back from helping with those lightening fires out in California."_

"_Lindsay picked you up?_ _Where is that niece of mine?"_

"_Upstairs sound asleep. Between soccer practice, her job, and that boyfriend she thinks I don't know about, she was just about out of gas when she met me. I drove home and she fell asleep on the way back here."_

_Brooke nodded as she took a seat at the red vinyl dinette set and spent the next several minutes inquiring about her niece. Malinowski patiently allowed her to dance around more volatile issues until the coffee was ready and he returned to the table with two cups in hand._

_Brooke looked down at the steaming liquid and smiled._

"_Looks like you got it right," she said as she tasted her coffee. "Oh, yum! Real creme instead of that crummy non-dairy stuff you usually have."_

"_You picked the right night to drop in. The artery clogger is left over from a home ec. project Lindsay did while I was gone. She tells me you're going to be a Grandmother," Malinowski said with a reassuring smile. "Congratulations."_

"_Kind of cool how I managed to leap frog over the Mom part right over into Grandma territory," Brooke mused as she continued to stare down at the cup. "Although, since I'm Becky's Stepmother, I guess I'll be her child's Step-Grandma."_

"_That's just a technicality. You and I both know you'll love that child as if it were your own," he said wistfully. When his sister flinched, Malinowski regretfully bit his tongue as he tightly squeezed her hand. "I meant you have a lot of love to give a child, Brooke. It's going to be second nature for you to lavish that child with the same kind of love and attention you gave my daughter when she was born."_

"_Babies are easy to love," Brooke replied thoughtfully. "They can't argue. They don't judge you or pretend to have all the answers. They just accept your love without question."_

"_And then they turn into teenagers who question everything that comes out of your mouth," he shot back playfully._

"_You got me there," she admitted before laughing softly. "I guess I was a fool to believe there was such a thing as unconditional love."_

_Malinowski nodded and assumed his sister was referring the remarks he'd made the last time they had been together._

"_Unconditional love? You mean the kind of love you'd expect a family member? The kind of love and understanding you should have gotten from you brother while you were making the hardest decision of your life?"_

_Brooke looked up from her coffee with a startled expression on her face. Her expression made it clear she hadn't been referring to their rift at all. It was then it dawned on Malinowski that his sister's unexpected visit might have something to do with the husband she had chosen not to go home to that night._

"_You're a practicing Catholic, Andy. You're also trying to raise Lindsay to have a strong moral character. I never expected you to approve of me having an abortion-"_

"_You thought I fought you because of the church," he said incredulously. "Brooke, I know how miserable you were when you miscarried. Yes, I think what you and Jack decided goes against the teachings of the church, but you're my sister. I'll always love you, no matter what choices you make. It was an impossible decision for you. I understand why you did it…if you hadn't your child would have been without a mother… now… you're a mother without a child. That's something you'll never completely get over. I had no right to let things get out of hand and say such awful, and more importantly, such untrue things about you."_

"_I still miss it," she whispered with the same sadness in her eyes Malinowski had seen after she lost her first child. "God I hate that… you know…the 'it' business. I don't know if the baby was a boy or a girl, but I miss having that little angel inside me…talking to it…Andy, I even miss the damned morning sickness. God, I wish I'd been pregnant long enough to feel it kick. Maybe that's why I'm being so …"_

_Malinowski waited for his sister to finish, but instead Brooke abruptly stood and turned towards the coffee maker. He silently followed her to where she stood and watched as she pretended to focus on fixing another cup of coffee. Without a word, he slipped the cup out of her hand and embraced her once more._

"_Brooke Ann, what's that SOB done to upset you like this," he asked as he methodically stroked her hair. _

_"Which SOB are you referring to," she shot back defensively, while making an unsuccessful attempt to keep her emotions in check. "The SOB I'm about to put in prison or the one I work for...you know...the guy that left me without so much as a-"_

_"How about the SOB you can't bring yourself to go home to tonight?"_

"_We were talking about my baby, not my husband," she answered in between sniffles. "What makes you think Jack did something?"_

"_Because if you were just putting in long hours for that trial of yours, you'd do what you usually do. You'd either sack out on the couch in your office or you'd high tail it to Jakes for the night."_

"_Jake's involved and you know how I feel about interrupting young love," she said with the same kind of poutiness Malinowski had seen his sister use since they were children. It was something Brooke did whenever she was trying to deflect attention from a subject she wanted to avoid. "As for the couch, I no longer have the back of a thirty year old."_

"_Come on Sis," he said pressed, as he lifted her chin. "Let's face it. After the way I spoke to you about the abortion…not to mention your new marriage… you'd only come to me as a last resort. You'd have taken the late train back to Manhattan if everything was alright at home, rather than knock on my door," he continued with a sad chuckle. "Hell, I'll bet it was a coin toss as to where you'd come here or knock on Sam's door instead."_

_Malinowski knew he'd hit pay dirt when Brooke shot him a shrewd glance, before reaching for a napkin to wipe her eyes._

"_If I didn't know Danielle was away on a case upstate, I probably would have," she admitted. "But even I'm not arrogant enough to play Russian roulette with both our marriages by staying in that house alone with Sam. Besides, Sam has better judgment than that. I figured why put him in an awkward position by even asking."_

_Malinowski tried to suppress a smile as he thought about his sister's words. It wasn't often the word 'naive' entered his mind when he thought of his sister. Yet it was the only word he could think of to describe the statement she had made about her ex-husband. No matter how much his sister and Sam Prescott wanted to pretend their love had died some kind of natural death, Malinowski thought he knew better._

_New wife or not, Malinowski knew his former brother in law far too well to believe the man wouldn't have jumped at the chance to spend an evening alone with Brooke in the house that had once been their home._

_As if she could read his thoughts, Brooke shook her head and gave his arm a playful slug._

"_I know what you're thinking. You're wrong Andy and I don't have the energy to have that conversation again right now," she said as she moved back to the table and picked up her briefcase. "Thanks for the coffee, brother. I don't know why I didn't just get a room instead of-"_

"_Because deep down you knew it was time for us to reconcile," he said firmly taking the case from her hand. "You also knew you didn't want to go home to _him_... for whatever reason... so you came back to the place that will always be your home."_

"_No matter whom I'm married to?"_

"_You know," he began as he guided her back into a chair. "When you and Sam used to go at it, you used to come over here and tell Dana all about it. The bigger a rat you thought Sam was, the more anxious you were to run back home and make up after Dana compared whatever the latest transgression was to the laundry list she had of my own failings as a husband," he continued; meeting the warm smile Brooke gave him at the mention of his late wife's name, with a smile of his own. _

"_God, how selfish was that? The woman was fighting cancer and I'd run over here like some teenager-"_

"_Hey, it took the edge off of the side effects of the chemo more than once. You made her laugh, Brooke. That was better medicine for her than anything the doctors came up with. Now, I know I'm not Dana, but maybe if you tell me what McCoy's done I can make you laugh or … God help me… I can help you to want to go home and make things right with him."_

Malinowski shook his head when he finally settled into one of the chairs in front of McCoy's desk. His thoughts were still on his conversation with Brooke when his brother in law entered the room.


	57. Chapter 57

After a night of too much scotch and too little sleep which was followed by a day of non-stop problems, the DA was more than ready to take his frustrations out on anyone that was foolish enough to challenge him. The fact Andrew Malinowski had not only openly disapproved of McCoy's marriage to Brooke, but had nearly disowned his own sister when Brooke had the abortion, made it all the easier for the McCoy to give Malinowski a hard verbal shove.

"I've been out of the office all afternoon, so I don't have the time to trade insults with you right now, Andrew. If you're here to tell me you finally convinced your sister to correct the horrible mistake she made when she married me, just hand me the divorce decree and go back to Islip," McCoy bluntly demanded as he loosened his burgundy tie and reaching for the pile of pink message papers on the desk.

"Believe me; I'd like nothing more than to be the one to deliver those papers to you. Unfortunately, that's not why I'm here," the firefighter retorted with equal gruffness, as he stood. "I thought you might like to know where your wife slept last night, but such you don't have the time-"

"She went to _you_," he contemptuously snorted; not even attempting to hide his surprise."I may not be happy with my wife, but I can assure you I'd never treat her as badly as you have. It was one thing to hold onto your misguided illusions about her eventually reconciling with Prescott, but to second guess a decision that was made to keep her alive… I can't believe she not only forgave you… but that she would even think about seeking you out for support for anything more serious than a hang nail."

"You know Jack, you never really understood why I think Sam and Brooke should have stayed together. It isn't all about honoring a commitment," Malinowski replied; consciously choosing not to react to McCoy's remarks. "It isn't even the fact Sam adored her; even _you_ know he'd do anything to make her happy, without hesitating a second."

"We're talking about the man that left her without hesitating a second, are we?"

"It's about knowing who she is and accepting her, warts and all," Malinowski pointedly conitinued. "You see Jack; the problem with you is, you don't have what it takes to see a marriage through. To stick with it and really get to know who you're dealing with."

"How the hell would you know what I do or do not have," McCoy shot back indifferently. "I can count the number of times you've spoken to me since I married your sister on one hand."

"This is your third marriage, that alone-"

"If you think I'm going to sit here and justify the way I live my life –"

"My God, you two haven't even been married a year," Malinowski snapped. "How many times has one of you ran away… to the office or where ever… instead of going home and-"

"Brooke knew what she was getting before she married me," McCoy retorted indifferently; stubbornly refusing to let on that the same question had been one of the things that had kept him up the previous night. "I haven't heard any complaints from my wife. If she has any, I'll deal with them when I hear them from Brooke; not her self-appointed intermediary."

"Hard to hear anything my sister might have to say when you're in Manhattan and she's in Islip," Malinowski shot back smugly.

"Her choice, not mine."

"You're her husband McCoy," the other man thundered. "That was her choice, too."

At first McCoy didn't know whether to give into his temper or the twinge of amusement he felt at hearing his wife's brother sound so much like the woman he married. Realizing it would be futile as well as time consuming, for him to continue to verbally go toe to toe with the other man, McCoy leaned back in his chair and gave Malinowski the briefest of smiles.

"You came out here to share your vast knowledge of your sister, did you," McCoy said as he reached into his bottom drawer. "Fine, let's hear it."

Malinowski mirrored McCoy's half smile once he recognized the peace offering the other man had placed on his desk. The firefighter shook his head when the DA held up the glass McCoy had fished out of the drawer, along with a half empty bottle of scotch.

"She's never going to be the woman she was before terminating this last pregnancy. I know that because I watched her lose herself once before," Malinowski began in a tone that was almost friendly.

"The miscarriage?"

"I know a lot of people think it was Sam's 'death' that pushed my sister over the edge, but I was there. She was treading water…managing to function… before she lost the baby. It wasn't until the miscarriage that life seemed to lose all meaning for her. Jack," he continued with a tone that substituted his earlier condescension with concern. "She may have gotten a grip on the drinking…she may even have found some kind of happiness once you came along… but she isn't the same woman. It's too much to expect her to be the woman she was before terminating another pregnancy."

"I know better than to expect that. I lost a child myself, during my first marriage," McCoy explained with increased civility as he thought about Liz Donnelly's miscarriage. McCoy gave Malinowski a wry smile upon seeing the look of sympathetic surprise on the other man's face. "My first wife has never been the same after she took a fall and lost our second child;neither am I."

"Then why in the world can't you see what Brooke's doing?"

McCoy thoughtfully eyed his brother in law before he returned the bottle and glass to the drawer. Malinowski reminded him a lot of his father… his father before alcohol took control over the senior McCoy's life and turned him into the frightening figure of McCoy's adolescence and adulthood.

John McCoy Senior and Andrew Malinowski were cut from the same cloth. They were both hardworking public servants. Both devoted to their family and their God. Both men who wouldn't think twice about standing up for and protecting who and what they held dear in their lives.

"Andy, I can understand the concern you have about Brooke's reaction to the abortion. But I hardly think it has anything to do with the issues we were dealing with last night."

"Look, I don't pretend to know the specifics of what is going on with you two," Malinowski admitted. "Brooke didn't want to talk about it at all. What I _did_ manage to get out of her were a lot of generalizes about the fallacies of unconditional love, as well as some odd remarks about trust and protecting the people you love. Which we both know is pretty out there for my sister," he continued as McCoy arched an eyebrow. "You and I both know how Brooke feels about being protected… especially after what happened with Sam and that whole witness protection mess."

McCoy nodded in agreement as a twinge of concern tweaked his conscious. While the other man continued to talk, McCoy thought about his own attempt to protect his spouse. During their civilized battle the night before, McCoy's ire had been up for a number of reasons. While he had verbalized reasons such as his concern for the professional lives of friends and colleagues being at risk if Donald Shalvoy ever learned of their involvement in attempting to bring the corrupt public servant down, McCoy had been less forthcoming in expressing the lack of control he felt as well.

A feeling he had no doubt his wife would share when she learned the main reason McCoy was balking at running for a full term as DA.

"… She knows what ever she did was over the top," Malinowski continued. "Only you and she know how over the top. But Jack, I guarantee you whatever is did, Brooke did it to protect you. Now maybe that's hard to a macho, hard ass SOB like you to accept. But you need to remember, any hope of there being a child in the future for you two is gone. Right now, whether I like it or not, you're everything to her Jack."


	58. Chapter 58

Brooke McCoy glanced at her watch as she got up from the bench that sat in front of Iverson's Furniture Store and rubbed the sleeves of her linen suit while she resumed the pacing she had abandoned fifteen minutes earlier. It was a few minutes past seven o' clock and the unusually cool summer afternoon had turned into an even cooler evening.

When she checked her voice mail after the judge adjourned court until Monday, Brooke had been more than a little surprised to find a message from her husband informing her he was on his way to Islip and asking her to meet him in front of the furniture store at six forty-five.

After gleaming only a few hours sleep before putting in a full day in court, the weary prosecutor had been looking forward catching an early train and slipping into her own bed to catch up on some much needed rest. She had also been hoping to put off dealing with the fallout from the night before until Saturday when she hoped she and McCoy would be fresher and more forgiving.

Yet, when she heard McCoy's voice, she couldn't help feel her spirits lift. Although her feelings were still stinging from their confrontation, the last thing Brooke wanted to do was to add fuel to the previous nights fire and have him complete the hour long trip to Islip, only to find she'd stood him up.

Given the fact he had said he was already on his way the only thing the prosecutor could do was wait, while she wondered what her husband had found so compelling about Iverson's that he was willing to take a Friday train jam packed with commuters in order to peruse Islip's oldest family owned furniture store.

"You're late," she announced as the dashing figure in a fedora and black wool coat rounded the corner. "It's 7:10. This isn't Manhattan you know. The stores close early in old town. Otto Iverson locks up at seven sharp."

"Damn it. I didn't count on the train having a thirty minute delay at the Belmont station," he breathlessly explained as he stared first at the locked double doors, then back at the woman in the light grey suit and thin pink shell. "Their ad had something I thought you might like. How did it go with Paxton?"

"It was touch and go for a while," she responded as she thought about her exchange with the accused felon. "But in the end, he showed the jury what he really is. I thought we were finished furnishing the loft. What did you find in the ad that compelled you to get back on the Long Island Railroad for the second time in a week?"

"They have a sofa bed I think could work well in both of our offices," he deadpanned with the only the faintest trace of a smirk, before suddenly frowning. "You're shivering. Where's your coat?"

"In Manhattan," she explained as McCoy quickly removed his coat and slipped it over her shoulders."Yesterday was almost hot here, so I didn't need it. All I had at the office to wear this morning was the dry cleaning I picked up at lunch the day before."

Despite the bruised feelings she had from their encounter the previous evening, Brooke could feel her body stir once her nostrils breathed in the faint smell of her husband's cologne after she slipped into the garment that had been warmed by the body heat of its owner.

She paused as she caught sight of herself and her husband in the store window. Brooke pondered the reflection as she imaged how they might look to the handful of people that shared the street. Both dressed in business attire, they could have been colleagues… possibly a superior and his subordinate… if not for the way the hands that his rested on her shoulder and the sparkle that remained in both of their eyes as they stared at the window and held each other's inquisitive gaze.

She could feel McCoy's warm hands lingering on her shoulders while he seemed to debate whether to let go of her or draw her closer.

"Better?"

"Much," she replied with amusment, as she hugged the coat to her body. "I thought you'd rather replace me than replace that leather couch of yours. When did you decide we needed new office furniture?"

"When I was thumbing through the _Times_ last night pretending I didn't give a damn where you slept," he said with a wry smile as he feigned ignorance as to his knowledge of where is wife spent the night. "When I saw the ad for the sofa, I remembered the last time you slept at the office. It took a week of back rubs to get you back to normal. After last night, I'll bet your shoulders are full of knots."

Brooke couldn't help but close her eyes and lean back against him when she felt his hands press against her shoulders.

_Even with that damn fedora Jack's a striking man… more than striking… sexy…very hot, very intriguing… and he knows it, damn him, _Brooke mused as she felt a familiar ache between her legs.

"Am I to assume you no longer view me as the reckless idiot that you did last night," she whispered as she fought to regain some amount of control while she reminded herself that were still on a public street.

"Idiot was the word you used, not me," he reminded her before leaning down to kiss her.

Brooke silently cursed both of them as she turned toward McCoy and responded to the soft, warm lips she had already started to miss. She cursed herself being so easily appeased. She'd been married before. She knew no matter how pleasureable kisses and soft words were, they weren't going to resolve the issue at hand.

She cursed McCoy for being every bit as aware of that fact as she was and still using his well honed skills of seduction to turn her attention away from the subject at hand.

"It's going to take us ninety minutes to get back to Manhattan," she panted after she removed the fedora and slipped it onto her head in order to run her fingers through the thick grey locks that blew lightly in the wind.

"We don't have to go back to Manhattan," he countered with a sly smile as he slipped his hands under the heavy woolcoat.

"You're a wicked man, Jack McCoy," she hissed into his ear as his fingers undid the buttons on her suit jacket. "How is it going to look if one of the cops I work with sees us when we get hauled in for indecent exposure?"

McCoy chuckled softly before pressing her against him as his hands leisurely ran over her back.

"I was wrong," he whispered as he kissed the crook of her neck. "You play it much too safe to be called 'reckless'."

Brooke bit her lip and opened her eyes to find his dark eyes looking down at her with amusement. His smile deepened as she shot him a defiant glance and slipped her hand between the charcoal jacket and the white dress shirt.

"You think so?"

Before she could reach the waist band of his dress slacks, McCoy gave her a wicked grin and abruptly grabbed her hand to whisk her down the street towards the train station.


	59. Chapter 59

_FYI, this one is a little ... okay, maybe not so little... smutty. If you're not into that sort of thing, you might want to skip it and wait for the next update. _

The bedroom was dark except for the dim light coming from the hallway. Feeling slightly disoriented, Brooke looked around the room until her eyes fell on the alarm clock on the night stand across from her. She fumbled with the lamp beside the it until she managed flip the switch. Once she could see more clearly, she immediately remembered where McCoy had taken her.

Brooke smiled as she became more alert and memories of the dash to grab a cab at the train station to take herself and her husband to the harbor in order to take the ferry to reach McCoy's cottage in Ocean Beach filled her mind. The cab ride had been an exercise in self restraint that was abandoned the second they found a secluded corner on the ferry where they could discreetly caress and fondle each other while they made out like teenagers, before docking and finding another cab to take them to their final destination.

When they finally walked through the front door of the McCoy's beach front home, Brooke barely gave him enough time to turn off the burglar alarm before she had his suit jacket off along with his tie.

It always amazed Brooke that no matter how serious their differences seemed, their need to reconnect physically always won out over anger and pride, no matter out long they had been apart.

Although her conscious reminded her that even the best sex in the world wasn't a substitute for opening the lines of communication between husband and wife in order to resolve their problems, Brooke could feel her body tingle with excitement when she recalled the urgency with which McCoy had taken her once he removed the last of her clothes.

They didn't even make it to the bedroom.

_"You're responsible for that," he murmured as he kicked off the pair of briefs that had been hastily pushed to his ankles, while he discarded her bra; letting it fall on to the wood flooring. "I've been like this since the cab ride in Islip."_

_Brooke glanced down at the shaft that was already erect and demanding atttention, before looking back up at him with an innocent smile._

"_In that case," she answered with coyness that amused them both, as she reached for him."Maybe you should have pulled my skirt up and had me in the cab."_

_She could hear McCoy laugh softly as she felt a hand reached inside her panties._

"_Maybe I should have," he whispered as his free hand claimed a nipple, while the other slipped a set of fingers inside her._

_After all the teasing and petting during the journey to the cottage, as well as all the pent up emotions from the previous evening, the last shred of restraint Brooke had evaporated the moment his fingers entered her._

"_Now Jack," she demanded as her fingers feverishly rubbed and squeezed his swollen member. "Fuck me now!"_

_McCoy groaned as the fingers that had been alternately rubbing and thrusting inside her panties paused long enough to impatiently tear the delicate material away from her body. _

_McCoy reached for her hand to led her from the entry wall he'd had her up against and towards the bedroom._

_As they started passed the sofa, Brooke unexpectedly pulled him back into another embrace. _

"_Fuck me now," she whispered again before throwing her arms around him and claiming his mouth._

_She could tell by the way his body rubbed against her, he couldn't wait anymore than she could._

_Frantically, McCoy looked around the small living room; his eyes briefly resting first on the sofa and then on the recliner by the fireplace._

"_We'll never manage to stay on the sofa," he told her as he glanced at the hall leading to the bedroom._

"_I don't care!"_

_With that assurance, the look in his eyes told her the wait was about to end. _

"_How would you like me to fuck you, love," he whispered as he spun her around so that he was standing behind her. One hand pressed her to him so that his cock filled the space between her legs, while the other hand reached around and teased her clit until she begged for release. _

"_Oh God…," she moaned as her hips ground against him and she reached between her legs for him, more than ready to literally, take matters into her own hands. "I want you to fuck me…fuck me the way that you can fill me the most… but fuck me hard, Jack."_

_Without more than a knowing nod, he broke away from her and gave the coffee table a shove, before throwing the sofa cushions on the floor and pulling her down onto the cushions with him. As her body fell on top of him, McCoy pressed her buttocks downward as his hips pushed upward causing her to moan with unspeakable pleasure as her body enveloped his shaft._

A shiver ran through Brooke as she rememberd the power of that first thrust McCoy made into her. As she nestled herself further under the top sheet and comforter, Brooke shifted to McCoy's side of the bed.

An almost inaudible sound of pleasure escaped from her lips, as she closed her eyes and savored the warmth that remained where McCoy had laid.

After they finished in the living room, McCoy had gathered her in his arms and taken her to the bedroom where they wordlessly clung to each other as their exhausted bodies drifted off to sleep.

Judging by the warmth on his side of the bed, Brooke was sure he'd only been gone a few minutes. As she pondered whether to seek out her husband or to close her eyes just a little longer, the smell of something on the grill filled her nostrils and she realized how hungry she was.

After finding and putting on one of the pairs of sweat clothes McCoy kept at the cottage, Brooke found her discarded clothing piled neatly on the sofa beside McCoy's suit and wool coat. She continued to the kitchen and out the backdoor to the small backyard where she found McCoy wearing a copy of the grey sweat shirt and pants Brooke had on. He had his back to her and was focused on turning the last of the salmon steaks on the old fashioned charcoal grill that sat beside the redwood picnic bench and chairs.

"Smells good," she whispered in his ear as she snaked her arms around his chest.

"I thought you might be hungry when you woke up from your nap."

"I am," she admitted as he set the metal spatula down and turned her face her. "But I it's not only the food that smells good."

McCoy grinned down at her as he quickly kissed her lips and drew her into an embrace.

"You know," she continued as she ran her fingers thoughtfully over the front of his sweatshirt. "There is a naturalist beach half a mile from here. Maybe, after we eat…"

"You realize it's 50 degrees and dropping," he said with a chuckle.

"I have every confidence in your ability to keep me warm," she countered playfully as he took her hand and led her to the table.

"If you wouldn't be too disappointed, I think I'd rather play naturalist indoors, in front of the fireplace with you and a couple of Irish coffee's," he replied as they sat down. "I walked to the store while you were sleeping. I picked up some tequila, if you want a drink."

"Thanks, but I'm fine for now," she interjected as she sighed. "I suppose I should keep a clear head for whatever you have to say, now that our mutual lust has been satisfied."

"I don't want to fight with you, Brooke. But, we do need to talk," he admitted as he ran a hand over her cheek.

Brooke nodded as he stood and gave the salmon a critical gaze. Wordlessly, she picked up the plates on the table and joined him at the grill. While he removed the salmon from the grill, Brooke carefully opened the foil pouches that contained an assortment of steaming vegetables.

Brooke raised an eyebrow when he returned from the house a few moments later with two soda cans in hand.

"I knew great sex would only get me so far," she said with amusement as she opened the can he handed her. "No scotch? Now that you're done grilling the salmon, you must want to keep a clear head for when you grill me."

"I was pretty rough on you last night. You didn't deserve that."

"Hey, I'm the one that acted like a five year old and refused to go home with you," she said with genuine regret. "I know you we're kidding about the sofa bed, but after last night-"

"You had a case to prepare for," he reminded her gently as he cut into the salmon.

"I put the job before the marriage and that was more than reckless."

"You're trying a violent felon who's killed several women and kidnapped dozens of children," he said before taking a bite of the salmon, as he shifted uncomfortably. "Under those circumstances, I'd have made the same decision."

Brooke looked up from her plate wearing a weary smile.

"Yeah and how many couples do we know that aren't together anymore because they made that noble sacrifice one too many times?"

McCoy knew she was right. Being an absentee husband was one of the main reasons his second marriage was doomed to failure almost from the moment he said 'I do.' He could hardly blame his ex-wife for accusing him ignoring her, then not loving her, and finally accusing him of marrying her only as a last ditch effort to convince himself he wasn't still in love with a ghost.

He'd made the mistake of having his personal life take a back seat to his career at the expense of more than one relationship. It wasn't a mistake he wanted to repeat with Brooke.

"Point taken and if you spent more nights in Islip more than you do Manhattan maybe I'd be worried," he said as he reached for her hand. "Besides, we both know the job isn't the only reason you didn't come home. You're not the only one that made mistakes last night. We both know I hurt you, Brooke. I hurt you when all you wanted to do was help me and for that, I apologize."

Brooke's eyes widened in surprise.

"When am I going to learn to expect the unexpected from you Jack," she said more to herself than to McCoy as she squeezed the hand that held hers. "I was preoccupied and worn out over the Paxton trial. I think that made me overly sensitive last night," she said lightly in an effort to play down how deeply his words had cut. "You were right. It doesn't matter what I intended. I was reckless… and if I were in your shoes…I'd have been more than pissed. Nobody likes being smothered with the blanket of over protectiveness."

"Like I said; you're not the only one that made mistakes," he said softly before picking up his fork.

Both of them ate in silence; Brooke waiting for an explanation that didn't come. McCoy wanting them to have a pleasant meal before he explained to Brooke his main reason for not wanting to run in the next election for district attorney.


	60. Chapter 60

"You know, there's a reason they say the first year of marriage is the hardest," Brooke remarked as she finished drying the last of the dinner dishes. She leaned back against the kitchen counter and waited for McCoy to finish putting away the last of the food, before planting a tender kiss on his lips. "I think it's even harder for people like us. People that have been married before; people that are so driven ... at work... as well as at home. We've both lived long enough to firmly be set in our ways."

"You make it sound pretty hopeless, counselor. I'm the one that 's gone 0 for two up until now," McCoy commented with a chuckle. "Aren't I supposed to be the cynic, when it comes to marriage?"

"All I'm saying is; transitions are never easy."

McCoy knew how true that statement was. One of the reasons he'd dragged his feet about considering a third marriage for so long was his still vivid memory of living through his 'transition' from marriage number two.

The practicalities alone ... dividing property, packing up, finding that needle in the haystack that was the Manhattan housing market with the highly coveted combination of decent location and affordable rent... were depressing enough. But the personal carnage involved... the inevitable self loathing he felt when he found himself staring at yet another personal failiure, the guilt at not having seen the futility of tying himself to another relationship... to another woman he knew deep down he'd only make mininal time for after once the next big win was at stake... those things alone we're enough to have him literally waking up screaming when his subconsious dared to flirt with the idea of taking another walk down the aisle.

But yet, here he was leaning against the refrigerator he'd bought more than twenty years before with his first wife, as he thoughtfully pondered wife number three's deceptively innocent statement.

"Transitioning with you has been a walk in the park. Not only did you let me get off easy by moving to Manhattan, you gave my traveling companions a much needed home."

"Ah, so _that's_ the way to your heart," Brooke gently teased as McCoy caught her hand. "If I'd known hooking the unhookable Jack McCoy only required a couple thousand dollars worth of bookcases, I'd have ordered them much sooner."

"And here I thought I caught you; the unattainable ADA from across the bridge," he playfully shot back before pulling her into an embrace. "Losing isn't an option for me, Brooke," McCoy continued, with sudden seriousness. "Not in the courtroom; not in our marriage."

"Where is this coming from, Jack," Brooke asked as she scanned his face for some clue as to what was causing the restlessness in her husband he had sensed since they sat down to dinner.

At first, Brooke had chalked it up to the unfinished business they had left hanging from the night before. But it didn't add up. While he had initially been justifiably angry when he learned she had known about the efforts others where making to dig up evidence against Shalvoy, that anger seemed to have vanished entirely, after they discussed the situation over dinner.

As she studied the worry lines that had begun to form on her husband's forehead, Brooke knew there had to be more.

"I know you were angry last night. We both were," she continued carefully. "But not angry enough to put the marriage in any real jeopardy, at least not from where I was sitting. "

"You may not feel that way after you hear what I have to say," he began as he reluctantly; knowing he'd stalled too long all ready. "I told you earlier that you weren't the only one that made mistakes. I wasn't just talking about last night."

Brooke's eyes never waivered from the faded green squares as her husband admitted he'd lied to her; that he'd used his daughter as a convenient cover when he told Brooke his reasons for considering not to make a bid for District Attorney in the fall elections.

As he continued, Brooke could feel her body tighten. She immediately wanted to lash out; to verbally push back and self righteously blurt out that McCoy had not only lied to her; he'd let Donald Shalvoy indirectly do more damage to their marriage than the damning Excalibur reservation _ever_ could have.

But she willed herself to remain silent, as he explained his fear of Shalvoy eventually uncovering and using the abortion... possibly using the details her kidnapping and rape... as welll as anything else the governor could dig up to further his very dirty and soon to be very public campaign to destroy McCoy.

When he finished, part of her wanted to walk out the door and never look back. But Brooke knew McCoy had been right when he commented earlier on the number of times one of them had taken the easy way out and ran during a conflict. It was a tactic she'd used early on in her first marriage in part, to defuse any potentially intense battle. It was also a tactic she used, not so unconsciously, to retain the illusion of control during a confrontation.

It was a tactic that lost it's effectiveness by the time she celebrated her fifth wedding anniversary, the first time around. Looking at McCoy Brooke realized, if she wanted to stay married to her current husband long enough to _have_ a fifth wedding anniversary... the juvenile tactic needed to seize then and there... for both of them.

Besides, Brooke was damned if anything Donald Shalvoy was remotely responsible for, was going to make her run again.

"So you lied to me," she said with such disillusionment, that McCoy could feel his gut reflectively tighten, as if preparing for a physical punch.

"I told you I was concerned about Shalvoy coming after the people that are important to me," he automatically countered. "My concerns about Becky are as real as my concerns about you."

"Any good trial lawyer knows a lie by omission is still a lie... and God knows you're more than 'good'. Damn it Jack, a ten year old knows it too. I'm sure when you did it, you justified it to yourself the same way you did when you lied to a judge or a defense attorney. The end justifies the means, right? When you lied on the job, you told yourself you lied for the greater good. When you lied to me, you told yourself you did it to protect me," she shot back in a tone that left no question in McCoy's mind as to the distain Brooke felt for him at that moment.

"I can deal with Shalvoy coming after me," he replied bluntly as he fought a losing battle to keep his voice from rising. "I can't deal with him using you to get to me. I know that's not what you want to hear right now, but I won't-"

"You're wrong. I not only do want to hear it, I'd have _liked_ to have heard it weeks ago, instead of hearing some cock and bull story about Rebecca's wild childhood."

"Rebecca was a handful-"

"That's hardly the point and you know it," she shot back she looked up at him with fire in her eyes. "I realize I'm guilty of doing the same thing, Jack…of keeping you in the dark about Connie and the others. But, this is so much more. It's too much! For you to not only lie to me... for you to go back on your word... but to throw away your career because of something I did-"

"We both-"

"NO," she thundered as her patience finally gave out. "_I'm_ the one that signed the consent form. It was ultimately my decision. A decision you apparently think is damning enough to leave your career and hide in the corner over."

"I'm not sorry you had the abortion, if that's what you're implying," he stiffly retorted.

"Maybe ashamed would be a more accurate description," she shot back coolly, as she gazed at him with bold look that dared him to try to deny her accusation.

"Ashamed? Of _what_? Of wanting to keep you alive," he thundered back as if he couldn't quite believe his ears.

"Come on Jack. Ask yourself, what other medical procedure is more vivified than abortion? If I'd miscarried you wouldn't be concerned about what Shalvoy or the media did with that information…hell, you'd of said 'bring it on'. But an abortion... an abortion makes me a liability... doesn't it Jack?"

"It's not just the abortion, Brooke. It's the kidnapping, the rape, and then on top of everything else losing a child," he replied as his voice stridently continued to rise, while his frustration gave way to McCoy's desperate need to make her understand his position.

"If I could survive all that, why don't you think I'm strong enough to survive whatever some ignorant reporter throws at us," she demanded before she stormed off towards the living room.


	61. Chapter 61

_Okay, this is_ it_! This is the final chapter for the story that seemed to go on forever! As I prepare to post this, I feel both relieved and sad. I feel relieved because I was starting to think I was _never_ going to be able to end the damned thing, lol. I feel sad because, after eleven Jack and Brooke stories, I'm not sure if I have anywhere else to take these two._

_If anyone wants yet _another_ story or as an idea for said story, please feel free to PM me with your thoughts. Sorry this one got so out of control. I hope you enjoy the final chapter!_

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McCoy watched from the kitchen as Brooke plopped down on the living room sofa. As much as he wanted to go after her, he remained still. While the prosecutor in him longed to systemically tear part what he perceived as the ludicrous accusations his wife had just hurdled at him, the husband in him knew he would gain more ground by remaining silent, at least for the moment.

_Three marriages and almost forty years of dating and I stil haven't mastered the game, _he thought as he ruefully smiled to himself while he tidied the counter Brooke had just tidied; making an effort to resist the urge to pour himself a drink while he waited her out.

Even though McCoy considered himself to be an old hand at martial battles, he knew each relationship had its own set of rules during conflict. When he was married to Elizabeth Donnelly, sarcastic one ups man ship was weapon of choice. When he was married to defense attorney Denise Caldwell, the weapons of choice were guilt (hers) and absence (his).

Although they had been married less than a year, McCoy knew he and Brooke had already established their own pattern of stark confrontation, usually followed by going to neutral corners … usually via one or both of them leaving the scene of the conflict… followed by the soothing salve of love making, once cooler heads prevailed.

It was a pattern they had established long before their marriage and he knew it was a pattern common in a new relationship. It was a pattern that experience told him, would only work as a quick fix in the short run. It was a pattern that, as the relationship matured, they would eventually out grown as more complex problems emerged to test the strength of their bond.

The fact neither of them had given into their fight or flee instinct that night served as a silent acknowledgement to McCoy that they both knew the time for change had come.

McCoy made cleaning the already spotless counter last as long as was humanly possible, before he left the kitchen. As he reached for the pile of clothes that rested on the sofa back, Brooke reached for his hand without looking up.

"I hate fighting with you Jack," she said hoarsely. "But I hate being protected more."

"After what happened with your first marriage, that's understandable," he said as he released her hand and sat down beside her. "Neither one of us does well with being kept in the dark."

"I should have told you about Connie and Mike as soon as I heard," she admitted while she quickly wiped her eyes. "God Jack, if I had my way you'd leave politics and go back to doing what you love. You'd go back to being a prosecutor and having you private life remain private. The thing is, that isn't what will make you happy…not now… not when you have the opportunity to do so much more. I just can't stand the idea of Shalvoy taking that away…I just can't stand the idea that after everything we've gone through... I'm going to end up doing more harm than good when it comes to you election-"

"You were wrong when you said you were liability Brooke," he said softly as drew her to him. "But you're right about the abortion. If it was any other procedure, I wouldn't give a damn about the fallout. Not because of the politics of it. Because of what we've already lost because of that decision. I just don't know how much more you can take. If that's being over protective, then I guess I'm as guilty as Sam was."

"No, Jack. First of all, you're here and when you're not, I know you're coming back. Comparing yourself to Sam would be like me comparing myself to Liz... or Claire. Those comparisons are not only futile, but they're flawed. We're not the same people we were during those relationships. We've changed and so have, at least in part, the things we want out of a relationship."

"You sound like you've been spending time with Liz Olivet again," he said with a wry smile.

"Maybe if I was I'd have handled things a whole lot better," she replied as she ran a hand through his hair. " Look, I know Sam had an impossible decision to make. But,when he made that decision, he made the decision for us to stop growing together… to take separate paths that will never meet again. Jack, I love you and no matter how hard we fight and no matter what the problem is, I can always count on you to be straight with me. Even when it's not easy to do. That's what will keep us on the same path. That's what will keep this marriage alive."

"I'd like to believe that, Brooke," he replied as he gently kissed her cheek. "I'm just not comfortable putting your emotions through a meat grinder by running next year. I just don't think you're anywhere near being over losing the baby. I know I'm not."

"Listen, we both have lost children before. We both know that kind of loss never goes away. That's probably one of the reasons I've been so smothering lately," she admitted, with shrug. "Right now, you're my anchor and I know I've been holding on a little too tightly since the abortion. But Jack, can you honestly say you don't want to run? Can you honestly say there's no chance you'll regret letting the DA's office go…that you won't resent me for the part I played in that decision? Honestly?"

McCoy opened his mouth to respond with some automatic assurance… one of many non answers that had been well practiced over the course of too many years and too many relationships. Before he could utter a syllable, Brooke shot him a look that reminded him of a look he knew far too well.

He'd seen it enough times in enough bars. It was the look of a woman who thought she'd heard it all before and was already preparing a rebuff for whatever tired old line McCoy might try to get by her.

It was a test he usually not only passed but aced, more times than he could remember. With cockiness that made him smile, McCoy's inner voice told, him married or not, this time wouldn't be any different than any of those other times.

Brooke leaned back on the opposite arm of the couch; an eyebrow raised and the slightest of smiles playing on her lips while she unwaveringly held his gaze and silently dared him to continue.

"Do remember what you promised me just before we made love the first time, Jack?"

"The way I remember it, that was the night I told you I didn't _make_ promises," he countered smugly as he tried to make the connection between that first night and her insistance that he answer her honestly.

"True and look at what a fallacy _that_ turned out to be," she answered with equal arrogance as she held up her left hand and wiggled her ring finger at him.

_Okay, maybe married _should_ be different_, he reminded himself as he let out an inaudible sigh and thoughtfully lowered his gaze to the floor.

"If you can remember that much, I'm sure you remember what else you said to me that night," she continued before slipping her bare feet onto McCoy's lap and using her toes to playfully gave his rib cage a nudge. "Or would you like me to refresh your memory?"

McCoy slowly shook his head as he thought about the night of the first Bar Association gala they had attended as a couple. It was a night not long after he had accepted his appointment as District Attorney.

_Has it really been that long,_ he mused as he thought about the way he'd felt that night.

On the surface, he appeared confident and in control. Beneath the surface was quite another story. Inside, McCoy had been a mass of emotions. From the moment Brooke had joined him that night, he knew. Despite the sincere effort he'd been making not to rush things he knew, by the end of the night, they would be lovers.

xx"… _My so called 'reputation' is well deserved. My track record - which includes two failed marriages - speaks for itself," McCoy said quietly; not quite believing his own ears. _

_They were standing in his living room. Both of them more than ready to finally consummate their relationship after months of false starts and near misses, that were in large part due to McCoy's reluctance to move forward until he was certain the attractive widow was truly as ready to move forward as she wanted him to believe._

What the hell am I doing,_ he impatiently asked himself as his eyes wandered from Brooke's startled gaze to the breasts that begged to be touched and the long, shapely legs that he longed to caress… to part… to feel around his waist as they…_

It's not like this is a first for either of us… How many times as she looked 'yes', felt 'yes', _said_ yes? What the hell are you waiting for,_ his inner voice demanded as his words kept coming while self interest gave way to the protectiveness he'd felt towards her since the night of the Weaver shooting._

"_You mean a great deal to me, Brooke," McCoy continued as he shifted his gaze from the form clad only in heels, stockings, and the briefest of black lace panties, back up her inquiring blue eyes. "... I'd never intentionally hurt you, but I stopped making promises a long time ago. You need to understand that."_

_Brooke looked down at the discarded gown, then over to pile of clothing beside McCoy and started to laugh._

"_You mean you're not a boy scout? You sure picked a hell of a time to come clean, McCoy! Given that escape clause you felt obliged to give yourself, it would serve you right if I said, "You're right! What the hell was I thinking" and left. But I'm not going to do that, because you mean a great deal to me as well," she said thoughtfully."I wouldn't be here if you didn't."_

_Brooke paused as she looked up, scanning the long face. Although McCoy struggled to keep his face expressionless, his dark eyes held a look of tenderness beneath the world weary gaze that seemed to touch her. _

_She smiled up at him as she gently stroked his cheek._

"_There are some things you ought to know, as well. You're not the only one that doesn't make promises anymore. If there's anything I've learned in the past few years, it's that life is uncertain at best. I don't pretend to know where we're headed, Jack. I _do_ know you're way too hard on yourself. You're not the only one that's made mistakes. The only thing I expect from you is your honesty. I don't expect you to be Sam Prescott. Don't expect me to be Claire Kincaid."_

_McCoy stared down at her, marveling at her intuitiveness. It had been a longtime since he'd cared this much about a woman. He'd never been one to outright lie to get anyone into bed - oh, he could pour on the charm when he had a mind to - he prided himself on not deliberately leading women on. Maybe it was the failure of his second marriage or the shooting or Claire's death...or another of numerous events in his life that made emotional closeness a challenge for him. But at that moment as determined as he was not to hurt her, it wasn't Brooke Prescott's vulnerability that concerned him, it was his own._

_As he turned Brooke's words over in his mind for the first time he since he'd kissed Brooke, McCoy could see her in his minds eye; alive and healthy… her image forever young and beautiful… _

_For a blink of an eye, he felt the onset of guilt… guilt at forgetting her…for forgetting why Claire would always be frozen in time… guilt at not only allowing himself to be distracted from her memory, but for daring to feel again… for having the audacity to feel not only alive again, but to feel more than a passing sense of well being that would end after the temporary reprieve of a heated debate or too much scotch or even the occasional meaningless roll in the stack._

"…I don't expect you to be Sam Prescott. Don't expect me to be Claire Kincaid."

_No one had ever dared to flat out say it to him before. _

_His second wife hinted at it when she accused him of loving a ghost, but even the second Mrs. McCoy couldn't bring herself to utter her name...at least…not in McCoy's presence. Maybe that was why he felt himself drawn so strongly to Brooke... shy she wasn't…nor was she what McCoy would describe as the soul of tact. _

_But she was strong and unafraid to go toe to toe with McCoy or any other man… professionally… as well as personally. She was strong and passionate and as driven to get what she wanted as McCoy had ever been._

_And what she wanted right now was him. Why, McCoy couldn't begin to image._

"_I won't lie and say I don't still think about Claire, but tonight it's you I want, not Claire. Brooke, I'll never lie to you," he said with sincerity that surprised them both before he kissed her. _

"The only thing I expect from you is honesty."

_Before the Weaver mess, that was one expectation McCoy would have found impossible to meet. How could he be completely honest with anyone, when he couldn't even be completely honest with himself?_

_Yet, for some unexplainable reason, he knew he'd meant what he said. Whether it was because he knew they had both traveled down the road of loss, he couldn't be sure. But for whatever reason, McCoy wanted this woman and not just for a night or a weekend. He wanted her body and soul and he knew the only way to get what he wanted was to be able to reciprocate in kind._

…what are you waiting for?

_As he scooped her up into his arms and started towards the bedroom, McCoy silently answered the question he'd asked himself just a few minutes earlier. Suddenly he knew what he'd been waiting for had arrived at last. The right time had come so quietly, so unexpectedly, that it had taken the savvy attorney almost completely unawares. _

"I remember," McCoy said as his thoughts returned to the moment at hand.

"Then you know even if you didn't use the word 'promise', it was more than implied by your statement when you said you'd never lie to me."

"It wouldn't be lying for me to tell you that I'd like to believe I'm evolved enough to want to put the needs of the people I love before my own."

"Oh,_ I_ never meant to imply otherwise," she said with immediate seriousness. "I've always said you were a good man, Jack. Good men silently make sacrifices for the people they love and never complain. But not this time. This time, if you walk away you may not complain about it but you'll look over your shoulder…especially if some flunky of the Mayor's or Shalvoy's becomes DA. Over that shoulder, you'll see me and eventually, you'll resent me."

"And if I run and you get hurt, I'll have to live with the guilt."

Brooke sighed as she slipped her feet from his lap and onto the cool wood floor. She could feel her own sense of guilt and frustration building as she wracked her brain to find a way out of their increasingly circular debate.

As she rested her head on his shoulder, she felt his arm draw her closer. She looked up and studied the stubbornly set jaw line and intense brown eyes that looked as weary as her own.

As tired as they both were, Brooke knew this discussion was too important to abandon for sleep...or anything else.

While their hurt and anger seemed to have subsized, the problem was there didn't appear to be an obvious way for them to find common ground and resolve the root of the problem they faced. The choices seemed clear: McCoy either ran or he didn't. There was no middle ground and for two people so driven to win, that meant a stale mate.

"Make the abortion a non issue," she blurted out, after several minutes.

"Brooke, I told you it's not just-"

"I know what you told me, but we both know the abortion is the hot button," she reminded him. "The kidnapping, the rape, even our involvement during the Weaver trial, can all be dealt with by a good spin doctor…in fact… the kidnapping and the rape will probably get you some sympathy points with the voters if the opposition is stupid enough to –"

"For God sake, do you think I'd use something like that just to gain a few votes? To -"

"Of course not. All I'm saying," she impatiently interjected as she gave his knee a reassuring squeeze. "It's the abortion you have to contend with. The best way to do that is to take it out of play. To neutralize its usefulness to the opposition. Take control of it out of their hands. Instead of letting them decide when and where to throw it out to the public, you throw it out yourself."

McCoy stared down at her; at first in disbelief. Then his gaze turned more thoughtful while he pragmatically weighed her words.

"You're saying you'd be comfortable discussing our personal life with a room full of reporters?"

"I'm saying I can handle disclosing the fact we chose to terminate my pregnancy due to life threatening complications, much better than I think either of us can handle having someone like Donald Shalvoy release that information with his own twisted spin on it. Once the story's out there, it's old news. That will defuse whatever fall out might come afterwards. Besides," she continued with a knowing smile. "This way, you have complete control over what the press does and doesn't know and let's face it Jack, control is almost a bigger turn on for you than seeing me in my birthday suit."

"I think I need to take another peek at you in your birthday suit before I can confirm or deny that," he joked as he ran his hand over the waist band of her oversized sweatpants.

"Hey, hands off the merchandise until we reach an agreement," she answered as she mischievously pushed his hand aside.

"I suppose this is one of those times having a reporter in the family might come in handy," McCoy remarked as he absentmindedly squeezed her shoulder.

"I'm sure Becky will be thrilled to hear you've finally referred to her husband as family," Brooke said with a chuckle. "Maybe Charlie would be willing to do the piece himself?"

"I suppose I could live with that."

"So, now that we've taken the abortion out of the equation, are you ready to admit you not only _want_ to be DA, but that one of the reasons you_ really_ wanted everyone to back off, was so that you can quietly sit back and wait for Donald Shalvoy to slip up, so that you can have the pleasure of nailing him on your own?"

Brooke could feel her pulse begin to quicken when McCoy gave her a sly smile. Although he ignored her question, the look in his eyes left no doubt in her mind as to his answer. She returned his smile as she felt his hand return to her waistband.

"Right now, it's not Donald Shalvoy that I'm thinking about nailing," McCoy whispered provocatively before kissing Brooke as he slowly lowered her back onto couch.

xx- refers to a scene in Excessive Force that I've reworked for this to show Jack's POV.


End file.
